THE   SINS   OF  A   SAINT 


SEIZE    HIM,    IN    THE    NAME    OF    GOD    AND    ODO  !  " 
SHOUTED    THE    BISHOP. 

(See  page  85.) 


THE  SINS   OF 
A    SAINT   4 


AN     HISTORICAL     ROMANCE 


By      J.      R.      AITKEN 


AUTHOR     OF     "  LOVE     IN    ITS     TENDERNESS  " 


D.  APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 
NEW   YORK      &      t      t      &      1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 
Bv  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  May,  190S 


TO 

C.  E.  A. 

IN     TOKEN     OF     A     GREAT     KINDNESS 
WHICH    MAY    NOT    BE    FORGOTTEN. 

1894-97. 


2134112 


"  The  events  of  this  reign  are  among  the  most 
painful  in  English  history;  and  though  not  free 
from  obscurity  they  are  sufficiently  clear  to  win 
for  the  king  our  sympathies  as  the  victim  of  un- 
merited injuries,  and  rouse  indignant  feeling  at 
the  lust  of  power  and  pride  of  place  which  in- 
volved an  ecclesiastical  party  adverse  to  him  in 
the  guilt  of  atrocious  crimes." 

MILKER,  "  History  of  England." 


CONTENTS 
BOOK  THE  FIRST 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  BREAKING  A  CIRCLE       ....  3 
II.  How   LITTLE    WHITE   HEART    WENT 

TO  CROYLAND 11 

III.  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  WODEN  ...  17 

IV.  THE  Kiss  OF  A  MAIDEN'S  HAND  .       .  24 
V.  A  FAINTING  HIND 30 

VI.  FOR  THE  GOOD  OF  A  SOUL    ...     35 
VII.  "  CHRIST  AND  KING  "     .       .       .       .43 
VIII.  Two  GREAT  VICTORIES  ....     51 
IX.  CORONATION  GLORIES      ....     61 
X.  How  A  SAINT  BLEW  OUT  GOD'S  CAN- 
DLE   69 

XI.  DISPELLING  A  DREAM     ....     78 
XII.  VISIONS  OF  SORROW 87 

XIII.  FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  KING  .       .     97 

XIV.  A  BENEDICTINE  GOWN  ....  108 
XV.  A  SAINT  AT  HOME 112 

XVI.  OVER  THE  MENDIPS  TO  THE  SEA  .       .  124 
XVII.  A  CORACLE  AND  A  SKULL     .       .       .  131 

BOOK  THE  SECOND 

XVIII.   THE  CRADLE  OF  CHRIST       .       .       .141 
XIX.  A  DREAM  OF  SILK  AND  PURPLE  .       .  150 
vii 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  THE  SWORD  ON  THE  ALTAR  .  .  161 

XXI.  How  THE  WARRIOR  WOKE    .  .  169 

XXII.  GRAY  HAIRS  AND  GOLDEN      .  .  180 

XXIII.  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  VER     .  .  182 

XXIV.  Two  MOVES  IN  THE  DARK    .  .192 
XXV.  A  PRAYER  AND  GOD'S  ANSWER  .  204 

XXVI.  RECEIVING  A  CROWN  OF  GLORY  .  216 
XXVII.  THE  MANTLE  OF  POWER       .       .  227 
XXVIII.  THE    PRIEST    OF    THE    LIGHTED 

SKULL 230 

XXIX.  THE  MERCY  OF  A  MONK        .       .  236 

XXX.  THE  PERSECUTION  OF  BEAUTY     .  244 

XXXI.  LIFTING  THE  FALLEN  CHRIST       .  254 

BOOK  THE  THIRD 

XXXII.  A  TALE  OF  A  SICK  NUN  .       .       .265 

XXXIII.  Music  AND  MORALS  ....  270 

XXXIV.  A  SOUL'S  BOG-LAND  .       .       .       .279 
XXXV.  NUN'S  VEILING 288 

XXXVI.  THE  HOUNDS  AT  BAY     .       .       .298 

XXXVII.  THE  RING  OF  BATTLE    .       .       .  302 

XXXVIII.  THE  BARGE  OF  DEATH  .       .       .313 

XXXIX.  BUTTERCUPS  AND  BLOOD        .       .  318 

LX.  THROUGH  THE  FIELD  OF  FLOWERS  323 

XLI.  AN  ANGRY  HEAVEN  ....  330 

EPILOGUE.  AFTER  THIRTY  YEARS      .       .       .  337 


Vlll 


THE  SINS   OF  A   SAINT 


CHAPTER    I 

BREAKING    A    CIRCLE 

ON  May-day,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  955, 
three  noble  youths  were  lying  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames,  in  the  royal  grounds  at  Kingston.  They 
were  tired  with  the  frolics  of  the  day,  and  silently 
watched  the  river  run,  the  sweet-breathed  cattle 
graze,  and  the  sun  set,  in  glory  of  gold  and  crim- 
son, beneath  a  bank  of  murky  gray.  Since  early 
morn,  when  with  the  royal  maids  they  washed 
their  faces  in  the  glittering  dew  to  make  them  rosy 
all  the  year,  they  had  filled  the  hours  with  leaping 
mirth.  In  concord  and  in  peace,  they  lay  together, 
happy  as  youth  without  a  fear.  But  had  it  been 
given  them  to  see,  only  for  one  moment,  the  com- 
ing years,  they  would  have  started,  clutched  their 
golden  scabbards,  and  wondered. 

Over  the  meadows,  golden  with  buttercups,  two 
white-robed  maids  came  tripping  toward  them. 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Hand  in  hand  they  came,  pictures  of  white,  in 
framework  of  gold,  aglow  with  setting  crimson. 
They  smiled  as  they  neared  the  admiring  gallants, 
and  gracefully  bowed. 

"  Welcome,  Elgiva,  and  thou,  little  White 
Heart !  "  cried  Eadwine,  rising.  "  In  sooth,  the 
evening  finds  you  rosy." 

"  And  fairer  than  day,"  said  Eadgar. 

"  And  sweeter  than  night,"  added  Oslac. 

"  Good  evening,  noble  sirs,"  replied  Elgiva. 
"  The  happy  day  has  gone,  and  night  creeps  on 
with  sadness." 

"  Sadness !  What  shaft  of  woe  has  pierced 
Elgiva's  heart?  "  asked  Eadwine,  with  sympathetic 
voice. 

"  A  long  expected,  Edwy,"  she  answered. 
"  White  Heart  comes  to  bid  you  all  farewell." 

"  Then,  in  truth,  will  night  come  on,  and  sun- 
light leave  the  valley !  "  cried  Eadgar,  stroking  his 
flaxen  tresses,  plaited  with  shining  gold.  "  But 
why?" 

"  To-morrow  she  wends  her  way  to  the  cloister 
and  the  holy  life  she  hath  chosen  for  herself,"  an- 
swered Elgiva.  "  Turketul  hath  come,  and  at  sun- 
dawn  will  lead  her  way  to  Croyland." 

4 


BREAKING     A     CIRCLE 

"  The  cloister !  Bah !  "  snorted  Oslac,  with  fine 
scorn.  "  Beware  of  it,  White  Heart !  " 

But,  with  the  seriousness  of  youth  when  its 
life  is  troubled,  Eadwine  1  took  White  Heart's  hands 
in  his,  and,  bending  toward  her,  questioned  gently : 

"  Why  dost  thou  leave  us,  little  cousin  ?  Is 
not  the  land  large  for  thy  cleansing,  or  the  court 
in  need  of  saintly  women?  " 

"  Yea,  Edwy,"  answered  White  Heart,  with 
soft,  mild  voice,  whose  very  tones  made  men 
aspire  to  saintliness.  "  The  land,  in  truth,  needs 
cleansing." 

"  Then  why,  little  White  Heart,  dost  thou  not 
stay,  touch  it  with  thy  life,  and  make  it  white  as 
thou?" 

"  My  soul  longs  to  pass  the  days  in  quiet  serv- 
ice," she  answered  simply.  "  I  am  tired  and  world- 
weary." 

"  Oh,  White  Heart,  Croyland  hath  no  need  of 
thee,  but  we  have  need  of  souls  like  thine  to  keep 
us  pure  and  holy.  Since  Turketul  himself  went 
off,  forsaking  the  court  and  service  here  to  join 
the  pious  monks,  the  world  hath  not  improved 

1  Eadwine  and  Eadwig  are  identical  names  of  which  Edwy  is 
the  diminutive. 

5 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

around  us.  Then  why  thou  join  him,  letting  the 
land  grow  dark?  " 

"  I  know  not  why,  fair  Edwy,  save  that  my 
soul  cries  out  for  quiet  tasks,  and  can  not  find  the 
rest  it  seeks  in  troubled  courts  and  gay.  But 
do  not  plead  with  me  or  tempt  me  so.  I  love  you 
all,  and  find  it  hard — harder  far  than  I  expected — 
to  tear  myself  away." 

"  Pardon,  little  White  Heart !  I  did  not  mean 
to  wound  thee,"  answered  Eadwine.  "  But  love 
would  plead  with  thee,  and  scarce  would  let  thee 
go.  Yet,  since  go  thou  wilt,  come,  and  let  us,  for 
the  last  time,  play  together,  as  we  have  done  from 
childhood.  And  maybe,  when  thou  art  by  thyself, 
and  comfortless,  the  memory  of  our  play  will  re- 
turn to  thee,  and  touch  thy  heart  with  gladness. 
Here  is  the  May-pole  still.  Round  it  let  us  dance 
once  more,  ere  the  darkness  comes." 

Hand  in  hand  they  danced  around  the  May- 
pole tree,  Eadwine  leading  with  this  fine,  old  Saxon 
song,  in  the  refrain  of  which  all  lustily  joined: 

The  May-pole  calls,  with  merry  voice,  to  youths  and  maidens 
O'er  the  lea  :  "  Come  and  dance,  ye  merrie  men, 
And  maidens  rosy,  full  of  glee ;  come  with  dewy  feet, 
And,  tripping,  sing  around  the  May-pole  tree." 

6 


BREAKING     A     CIRCLE 

Then  merrilie  round  the  May-pole, 

Around  the  May-pole  tree, 
Youths  and  maidens,  merrilie  singing, 

Tripping  around  go  we. 

The  May-pole  calls,  with  merrie  voice,  to  youths  and  maidens 
O'er  the  lea  :  "  Come  and  laugh,  ye  merrie  men, 
And  maidens  rosy,  full  of  glee  ;  come  with  dimpled  cheeks, 
And,  smiling,  sing  around  the  May-pole  tree." 
Then  merrilie  round  the  May-pole,  etc. 

The  May-pole  calls,  with  merrie  voice,  to  youths  and  maidens 
O'er  the  lea  :  "  Come  and  love,  ye  merrie  men, 
And  maidens  rosy,  full  of  glee ;  come  with  ruddy  lips, 
And,  kissing,  sing  around  the  May-pole  tree." 
Then  merrilie  round  the  May-pole,  etc. 

The  May-pole  calls,  with  merrie  voice,  to  youths  and  maidens 
O'er  the  lea :  "  Shield  your  hearts,  ye  merrie  men, 
And  maidens  rosy,  full  of  glee  ;  shield  your  hearts,  for 
Cupid,  shooting,  flits  around  the  May-pole  tree." 
Then  merrilie  round  the  May-pole,  etc. 

Round  and  round  they  danced  together  to  the 
sound  of  this  old  May-ditty,  forgetful  of  sorrow, 
and  happy  as  youth  without  a  fear.  And  while 
we  see  them  thus,  their  faces  merry  with  song  and 
wreathed  with  smiles,  you  must  paint  their  pic- 
tures and  place  them  in  the  hallowed  halls  of 
memory. 

You  can  not  but  mark  Elgiva's  tall  and  supple 
7 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

form :  it  would  take  the  eye  amid  a  crowd  of  court- 
iers. Dark  is  her  hair,  and  her  face  of  winsome 
wistfulness,  so  fair  that  they  have  named  her  The 
Beautiful.  Her  mind  is  filled  with  high  thoughts, 
her  soul  untouched  by  the  guile  of  the  world,  and 
her  heart  glad  with  the  birth  of  a  great  joy.  If 
you  watch  her  eyes  as  they  look  on  Eadwine,  and 
mark  their  happiness  when  his  meet  hers,  you  will 
understand.  Ethilda,  her  younger  sister,  called 
White  Heart  for  the  purity  of  her  soul,  would 
enter  your  life  and  touch  it  with  thoughts  divine. 
A  pathetic  little  figure,  of  rare  refinement  and 
piety,  she  creates  an  atmosphere  of  saintliness,  and 
lifts  our  life  with  visions  of  other  realms.  That 
you  may  love  her  as  you  ought,  you  must  hallow 
your  heart  with  incense  of  prayer.  Scarce  fifteen 
years  of  age,  yet  "  tired  and  world-weary !  " 

Of  the  youths,  the  eldest  is  Eadwine,  surnamed 
The  Fair.  Fearless,  frank,  open-faced,  and  gener- 
ous, he  carries  his  tall  form  like  a  leader  of  men, 
and  reveals  already  an  independent  mind  and  self- 
determining  temper.  On  the  death  of  his  uncle, 
the  king,  he  should  come  to  power.  But  the  lines 
are  not  fallen  unto  him  in  pleasant  places.  Al- 
ready we  can  hear  the  flapping  of  eagle's  wings. 

8 


BREAKING     A     CIRCLE 

The  second  youth  is  Eadgar,  his  brother  and 
junior  by  a  year,  a  handsome,  well-dressed  lad, 
of  short  stature  and  slender  frame,  with  long 
flaxen  tresses  plaited  with  threads  of  shining  gold. 
Fond  of  ostentation  and  display,  his  loves  will  lead 
him  far.  The  third  is  Oslac,  a  lithe-limbed, 
assertive  youth  of  much  power  and  passion.  Never 
known  to  fail  in  strife  or  shirk  a  daring  deed,  he 
is  unscrupulous  in  life  and  effort.  To  wind  the 
horn,  bend  the  bow,  hunt  the  stag,  and  head  the 
chase — and  then  to  woo  a  maid — are  his  favorite 
occupations.  A  subtle  mystery  coils  around  his 
life  which,  it  is  whispered,  only  the  good  King 
Eadred  can  explain.  Mark  him  well,  this  Oslac, 
a  sinuous  serpent  sleeps  among  his  hair. 

From  earliest  years  these  five  have  sung  and 
played  together.  But  the  forces  destined  to  drive 
them  far  apart  are  gathering  round  them  even 
now.  Fain  would  we  cry  to  them: 

"  Sing  on  and  dance !  " 

But  the  fingers  of  Destiny  unloose  their  hands, 
and  the  powers  of  Darkness  creep  along  the  sky. 

"Good-by,  little  White  Heart!     May  the  joy 
thou  dost  hope  to  find  come  nigh  thee  many  times," 
sang  Eadwine,  with  rich,  deep,  honest  voice. 
2  9 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Good-by !  We  shall  miss  thee  in  the  pag- 
eants," cried  Eadgar,  as  he  arranged  his  flaxen 
tresses. 

"  Good-by,  fair  cousin,"  shouted  Oslac,  "  and 
since  thy  heart  is  not  for  us,  take  care  a  pious 
monk  do  not  storm  its  castle !  " 

"  Good-by,  dear  cousins,  good-by !  And  may 
the  Christ  be  with  you  all,"  faltered  Ethilda,  her 
voice  breaking  with  tears. 

And  the  circle  of  childhood  was  broken. 


10 


CHAPTER    II 

HOW  LITTLE  WHITE   HEART  WENT   TO    CROYLAND 

NEXT  morning  at  sundawn  Turketul  rose, 
crossed  himself,  repeated  his  paternoster,  and 
came  to  lead  little  White  Heart  away  to  the  clois- 
ters of  Croyland.  A  long,  broad-shouldered  man, 
on  whose  back  for  forty  years  the  burdens  of  the 
kingdom  had  fallen,  the  old  chancellor  sought, 
with  an  old  soldier's  pride,  to  carry  himself  erect 
and  lift  the  stoop  that  age  was  pressing  on  him. 
His  great  head  of  hair  fell  in  gray  beauty  over 
his  shoulders,  and  his  snow-white  beard  over  his 
breast.  The  first  Chancellor  of  England  with 
whose  career  we  are  tolerably  acquainted,  he  was 
still  full  of  strength,  and  as  noble  as  he  was  great. 

A  grandson  of  Alfred,  Turketul  united  integ- 
rity to  power,  and  through  four  reigns  served  his 
country  memorably,  on  the  field  of  battle  and  in 
the  nation's  councils.  To  his  skill  was  due,  in 
great  part,  the  memorable  triumph  of  Brunanburh 
where  Athelstane  broke  up  the  mighty  confederacy 
11 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

of  Danes,  Anglo-Danes,  Scots,  Cambrians,  and 
Welsh  with  great  slaughter.  "  No  greater  car- 
nage," sings  a  poet  in  the  Saxon  Chronicle,  "  has 
been  in  this  island,  by  edges  of  swords,  since  from 
the  east  hither  Angles  and  Saxons  came  over  the 
broad  seas." 

The  enthusiasm  the  victory  has  inspired  in  the 
poetry  of  later  times  was  felt  by  the  old  chancellor 
with  all  its  glory.  Even  now,  though  wearing  the 
garb  of  peace,  the  fire  would  kindle  in  his  eye  at 
the  mention  of  Brunanburh.  He  had,  however, 
forsworn  the  pomp  of  the  world  for  the  peace  of 
the  cloister,  and  was  drawing  to  himself,  at  Croy- 
land,1  many  saintly  men  and  women  world-weary 

1  "  While  employed  in  the  pacification  of  the  north,  Turketul 
stopped  in  the  course  of  a  journey  at  Croyland  Abbey,  which 
had  been  devastated  in  the  first  great  irruption  of  the  Danes, 
and  still  lay  in  ruins.  Of  that  once  flourishing  community 
three  old  monks  alone  remained,  who  had  constructed  a  hum- 
ble home  and  oratory  amid  the  fire-scathed  walls  of  the  church. 
They  accommodated  their  visitor  for  the  night,  together  with 
his  train,  according  to  their  ability,  told  him  their  story,  and 
besought  his  intercession  with  the  king  for  the  restoration  of 
the  abbey.  The  interview  made  a  powerful  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  guest,  and  on  returning  to  court  at  the  close  of 
his  northern  mission,  he  astonished  his  royal  master  by  avow- 
ing his  intention  to  become  a  monk.  Edred  remonstrated, 
unwilling  to  lose  his  services,  but  the  chancellor  adhered  firmly 
to  his  purpose.  Accordingly  he  caused  proclamation  to  be 
made  in  London,  by  the  public  crier,  that  he  was  anxious  to 


WENT     TO     CROYLAND 

and  feeling  for  rest  in  prayer.1  The  face  of  the 
man  was  a  revelation  of  hope,  an  evangel  of  peace, 
a  proclamation  of  the  love  of  God  to  weary  souls. 
Pity,  thrice  pity,  he  had  not  stayed  at  court! 

Coming  for  little  White  Heart,  sweetest  and 
saintliest  of  maidens  then  at  court,  he  found  her 
weeping  in  her  mother's  arms.  Ethelgiva  pressed 

discharge  at  once  his  debts,  and,  if  he  had  wronged  any  man, 
willing  to  restore  him  threefold.  Having  resolved  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  days  at  Croyland,  and  devote  himself  to  its  reedifi- 
cation,  he  proceeded  thither  and  was  followed  by  the  king  in 
person,  who  witnessed  his  formal  assumption  of  the  duties  of 
abbot." — Milner's  History  of  England,  p.  103. 

1  "...  Nowhere  else  did  Christianity  make  a  deeper  or 
more  lasting  impression  than  in  England.  Not  only  do  we  see 
the  high  nobles  and  the  near  relatives  of  kings  among  the 
bishops  and  archbishops,  but  kings  themselves — warlike  and 
fortunate  kings — suddenly  and  voluntarily  renouncing  their 
temporal  advantages,  retiring  into  monasteries,  and  abdicating 
their  crowns,  that  they  may  wander  as  pilgrims  to  the  shrines 
of  the  Apostles  in  Rome.  We  find  princesses  and  other  high- 
born ladies  devoting  themselves  to  a  life  of  celibacy,  or  sepa- 
rating from  their  husbands  to  preside  over  congregations  of 
nuns :  well-descended  men  can  not  rest  till  they  have  wan- 
dered forth  to  carry  the  tidings  of  redemption  into  distant  and 
barbarous  lands  ;  a  life  of  abstinence  and  hardship,  to  be 
crowned  by  a  martyr's  death,  seems  to  have  been  hungered 
and  thirsted  after  by  the  wealthy  and  the  noble — assuredly  an 
extraordinary  and  an  edifying  spectacle  among  a  race  not  at  all 
adverse  to  the  pomps  and  pleasures  of  wordly  life,  a  spectacle 
which  compels  us  to  believe  in  the  deep,  earnest,  conscientious 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice  and  love  of  truth  which  characterized  the 
nation." — Kemble's  Saxons  in  England,  vol.  ii,  p.  363. 

13 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

her  daughter  fondly  to  her  breast  and  kissed  her 
many  times.  Pious  mother  as  she  was,  she  feared 
to  part  with  this  frail,  heavenly  child. 

The  old  king,  Eadred,  old  before  his  time  by 
reason  of  inward  pain,  looked  on  with  shriveled, 
anxious  face,  liking  little  this  bereaving  of  his 
court  of  its  saintliest  and  best. 

The  feet  of  little  White  Heart  faltered.  The 
deep  things  of  that  old-world  nature  surged  in  her 
soul.  All  night  long  a  subtle  mysticism  had  col- 
ored her  dreams.  A  hunger  for  the  spiritual  world 
beset  her,  and  a  mystic  realm,  sometimes  gracious, 
but  chiefly  awe-inspiring,  as  real  as  the  breathing 
world,  only  more  wonderful  and  more  powerful, 
surrounded  her.  Voices  and  visions  came  to  her 
from  this  unseen.  And  a  Great  Presence  over- 
shadowed her. 

She  clung  to  her  mother  lovingly  and  lingered. 
She  gazed  into  her  blue  eyes  and  waited.  And  as 
she  gazed  a  Vision  of  the  Mystic  Realm  came  and 
thrilled  her. 

Away  in  the  depths  of  Ethelgiva's  blue  eyes 

a    misty    figure    appeared    and    wended    his    way 

toward   little   White   Heart.      Tiny   and   hazy    at 

first,  the  figure  grew  in  stature  and  clearness,  till 

14 


WENT     TO     CROYLAND 

he  advanced  and  stood  at  last  on  the  very 
threshold  of  Ethelgiva's  eyes,  and  seemed  as  if 
about  to  step  from  that  world  of  vision  into  this 
world  of  sense.  He  smiled  on  little  White  Heart, 
and  showed  her  his  hands  and  his  feet. 

Little  White  Heart  crossed  herself,  smiled  back 
on  the  Vision,  and  became  quiet  as  a  soothed  child. 

The  figure  lingered  a  while,  and  then  slowly 
turned  and  glided  away  into  the  depths  of  blue. 
Far  in  the  distance  he  looked  back,  raised  his  hand 
an  instant,  and  waved  it  to  little  White  Heart. 
Then  he  became  a  mere  speck  in  the  blue  and 
vanished. 

Little  White  Heart  waited  till  her  Lord  had 
passed.  Then,  with  a  great  struggle,  she  roused 
herself,  kissed  her  mother  thrice,  bade  the  king 
adieu,  placed  her  hand  in  Turketul's,  and  firmly 
walked  away. 

But  at  the  manor-gate  a  royal  thane  stood 
waiting.  And  White  Heart  faltered  once  again. 

"  Eadmund !  "  she  cried. 

And  the  love-light  leaped  in  her  eyes. 

"  White  Heart ! "  he  answered,  with  desolate 
voice. 

15 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

And  the  "  world  "  pulled  strongly. 

"  Stay,  White  Heart !    For  love's  sake,  stay !  " 

And  her  tears  flowed  freely. 

"  And  we  will  serve  Him  both  together ! "  he 
pleaded. 

And  little  White  Heart  wavered. 

A  new  hope  sprang  into  the  young  thane's 
eyes.  -He  leaped  forward  and  laid  hold  of  her 
hand. 

But  through  her  tears  little  White  Heart  saw 
again  the  Vision  of  Ethelgiva's  eyes. 

And  she  left  all,  and  followed  Him. 

OH,  NAZARENE!  Great  is  thy  love  and  thy 
power. 


16 


CHAPTER    III 

AT    THE    SHRINE    OF    WODEN 

AT  noon  next  day  the  sun  shone  brightly  on 
Virginia  Water.  The  fish  sported  in  the  sunlight 
and  the  wild  fowl  spread  their  wings  lazily  on  the 
shore.  On  the  northern  reach  two  lovers  emerged 
from  the  forest.  A  score  of  wild  swan  rose  and 
beat  the  air  with  throbbing  wings.  And  a  stag, 
that  was  drinking  at  the  water's  edge,  shot  its 
head  erect  and  scampered  away. 

The  lovers  walked  along  the  shore.  They  were 
young  and  their  smiles  came  freely.  They  kissed 
each  other  and  laughed  at  the  wild  fowls'  fright. 
You  have  seen  them  before — the  fair  Prince  Ead- 
wine  and  the  beautiful  Elgiva.  And  there  would 
be  no  need  to  discover  them  now,  but  for  a  strange 
adventure  which  befell  them  on  their  homeward 

way- 
Passing   through   the    forest,   they   heard   the 
sound  of  distant  music.     They  listened,  and  a  wild 
chant  fell  on  their  ears.      Drawn   by   the  weird 

17 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

music,  they  left  the  beaten  path  and  plunged  deep 
into  the  forest,  and  came  at  last  to  an  open  space 
where  was  an  ancient  temple-grove.1 

An  old  Saxon  priest  and  priestess  were  chant- 
ing a  wild,  weird  song.  Prostrate  before  a  rude 
cromlech,  they  sang  praises  to  Woden.  And  the 
music  held  the  listeners  captive  till  the  worship 
ceased. 

Then  the  withered  old  priestess  rose,  and  lifted 
up  her  voice,  and  sang  this  strange  creation  song: 

When  Ymer  dwelt  here,  'twas  the  dawn  of  time  : 

Cool  streams  were  not,  nor  roads,  nor  seas  : 

Earth  was  not,  nor  o'er  it  heaven  : 

Yawned  the  gap,  and  grass  was  nowhere. 

Then  spake  the  Sons  of  Bur, 

And  out  of  chaos  came  forth  order  ; 

The  sun  shone  southward  on  the  sea 

And  all  the  earth  was  green. 

'Our  Saxon  forefathers  "were  not  without  an  organized 
system  of  religion,  which,  though  imperfectly  recorded,  seems 
to  have  been  identical  in  its  leading  features  with  the  better 
known  creed  of  Scandinavia.  It  recognized  fictions  wild  and 
extravagant,  which  yet  displayed  more  vigor  of  mind,  and  dis- 
tincter  traditional  traces  of  primeval  truth,  than  the  fables  of 
classical  mythology,  and  were  more  calculated  to  impress  the 
mind  with  the  idea  of  supernatural  power  and  future  responsi- 
bility, and  less  licentious  in  their  tendency,  though  directly 
adapted  to  strengthen  the  ferocious  passions." — Milner's  His- 
tory of  England,  p.  54.  See  also  Kemble's  Saxons  in  England, 
vol.  i,  chap.  xii. 

18 


AT     THE     SHRINE     OF     WODEN 

Last  man,  the  gods  created, 

His  bones  from  stone, 

His  flesh  from  earth, 

His  blood  from  water, 

His  heart  from  wind, 

His  thought  from  cloud, 

His  sweat  from  dew, 

His  hair  from  grass, 

His  eyes  from  sun, 

And  breathed  in  him  the  breath  of  life. 

But,  in  the  closing  of  the  ages, 

In  the  twilight  of  the  gods, 

When  the  powers  have  burst  their  fetters, 

Then  shall  change  this  present  order. 

Black  shall  wane  the  sun, 

In  waves  the  earth  shall  sink, 

From  heaven  shall  fall  the  friendly  stars  ; 

Round  the  tree  red  fire  shall  rustle, 

High  heat  play  against  the  sky ; 

Eastward  the  ship  shall  shape  its  journey, 

Muspell's  sons  the  sea  shall  travel, 

O'er  the  lakes  shall  Loki  steer  her ; 

Sun  and  moon  shall  be  destroyed. 

A  second  time  will  ruin  perish, 
And  from  fire  new  creations  spring. 
Then  the  sun  shall  shine  more  brightly 
And  the  moon  shall  wane  no  more ; 
Then  shall  joy  the  vast  creation 
And  the  waiting  race  of  man 

19 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

In  the  realms  where  death  and  evil 
Never  wander,  can  not  enter, 
Where  the  blossoms  e'er  are  fragrant, 
And  in  the  grass  the  golden  tablets. 

Drawn  by  the  wild  notes  of  the  singer  and  the 
strange  words  of  the  song,  Eadwine  and  Elgiva 
had  ventured  out  into  the  open,  and  were  so  ab- 
sorbed they  did  not  notice  the  old  priest  start  and 
creep  stealthily  in  their  direction.  All  eyes  on 
the  face  and  movements  of  the  quaint  old  priestess, 
and  all  ears  for  her  song,  they  were  not  aware  till 
she  had  done,  that  the  old  priest  was  gazing  into 
their  eyes  and  seeking  to  read  the  book  of  their 
life.  They  drew  back  with  a  cry  when  they  saw 
him,  as  if  conscious  that  his  piercing  eyes  were 
seeing  into  the  depths  of  their  souls. 

Leaping  to  his  feet,  he  followed  their  retreat- 
ing forms.  And,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Eadwine's,  he 
wailed  in  a  low,  deep  voice: 

The  Weird  is  at  hand, 
So  near  that  she  might 
Lay  hold  of  the  doomed. 

Keeping  his   eyes   riveted   on   those   of  the   spell- 
bound Eadwine,  the  old  priest  drew  slowly  up  to 
him,   piercing   his   life   with   his   keen   sight,   and 
20 


AT     THE     SHRINE     OF     WODEN 

wailing  forth  this  prophecy  in  a  voice  that  quiv- 
ered with  pain: 

Now  is  the  bloom  of  thy  strength  : 

Soon  will  it  be  that  sickness,  or  the  sword, 

Shall  part  thee  from  thy  power, 

Or  clutch  of  fire, 

Or  wave  of  flood, 

Or  gripe  of  sword, 

Or  javelin's  flight, 

Or  glance  of  evil  eye, 
Shall  oppress  and  darken  thee. 

Meantime,  the  dark  prophetess  had  been  look- 
ing deeply  into  the  eyes  of  the  beautiful  Elgiva 
and  scanning  her  fair  face.  Her  eyes  glistened 
with  admiration  as  they  fell  on  those  lovely  fea- 
tures, then  filled  with  dread  as  the  vision  of  that 
life  lay  before  her  gaze.  And  thus  she  sang: 

Yea,  the  Weird  doth  pursue, 

Hard  and  grim  in  hate, 

Spinning  and  weaving  the  life  of  all, 

As  maidens  do  from  worm  the  yellow  silk 

For  garments  beautifully  form. 

Still  gazing  into  the  terror-stricken  eyes  of  the 
fair  princess,  she  went  on,  in  a  voice  that  shook 
with  pity  and  increased  in  pain  and  passion: 

Prince  and  princess  went  to  the  wood, 
The  world  from  ocean  wondrous  green, 

21 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

And  in  the  grass  the  golden  tablets. 

Princess  stooped  to  pluck  a  flower, 

And  loud  the  war-fiend  howleth. 

Wrench  of  bone,  and  wrench  of  blood, 

And  wrench  of  limb ; 

Bone  from  bone,  and  blood  from  blood, 

And  limb  from  limb, 

As  if  a  life  were  torn  asunder. 

Then  the  key  changed,  and  the  old  priestess  pro- 
ceeded, in  a  voice  that  sang  of  final  victory,  still 
weird  and  other-worldly: 

I  see  her  rise  a  second  time, 
The  world  from  ocean  wondrous  green, 
And  in  the  grass  the  golden  tablets. 
Lo,  she  stands,  than  sunlight  fairer, 
In  Gimli's  hall,  with  gold  all  covered, 
Where  the  just  shall  joy  forever, 
And  in  pleasure  pass  the  ages. 

Speechless,  Eadwine  and  Elgiva  heard  the 
strange  words  that  fell  upon  their  ears,  and  felt 
the  pain  that  rang  in  the  voices  of  the  old  priest 
and  priestess. 

But  all  was  not  yet  ended.  Pointing  to  the 
sky  and  then  to  the  earth,  the  old  priest  con- 
tinued : 

Woden  calls  us  to  be  faithful, 
Crowned  with  gold,  or  whited  helmet, 


AT     THE     SHRINE     OF     WODEN 

Face  the  foe,  and  brave  the  danger, 
Enter  gloom  with  smiling  eye. 
Hell  for  rebels  he  created,  hell 
A  dwelling  deadly  cold,  winter  laden ; 
Water  he  sent  there,  and  snake  homes, 
Many  a  beast,  with  horns  of  iron, 
Bloody  eagles,  and  pale  adders  ; 
Thirst,  and  hunger,  and  fierce  conflict ; 
Mighty  terror,  joylessness. 

This  done,  the  old  priest  raised  the  statue  of 
his  god  from  the  rude  cromlech,  and  plunged  into 
the  dense  forest.  And,  with  a  look  of  pity  on  the 
beautiful  Elgiva,  the  dark  prophetess  followed. 

Bewildered,  and  not  a  little  terrified,  Eadwine 
and  Elgiva  fell  upon  their  knees  together,  hand 
clasped  firmly  in  hand,  crossed  themselves,  and 
prayed  to  their  God  in  the  heathen  temple.  And 
when  they  rose  they  picked  their  homeward  way 
with  silent  steps,  wondering  much  of  what  portent 
might  be  the  strange  words  they  had  heard. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    KISS    OF    A    MAIDEN*S    HAND 

THE  youths  of  the  royal  court  were  eager 
keeping  tournament  when  Eadwine  and  Elgiva  re- 
turned from  their  eventful  journey.  The  contest 
had  nearly  ended  when  they  took  their  seats  beside 
the  feeble  king.  The  final  combatants  were  enter- 
ing the  field  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  excited 
throng. 

They  were  both  noble  and  both  masked — one 
with  mask  of  gray  silk,  a  tall  and  powerful  youth, 
the  other  with  mask  of  red  silk,  a  lithe-limbed, 
assertive  youth  of  medium  height  and  great  cun- 
ning. They  were  clad  with  byrnies  of  ring-mail, 
and  bore  on  their  left  arms  a  round  linden  shield, 
in  their  right  hands  a  long  two-edged  sword,  while 
in  their  waist-belts  hung  a  short  seax  in  jeweled 
sheath. 

The  contest  was  a  triangular  one,  consisting 
of  throwing  the  long  spear,  wrestling,  and  fencing. 

The  gray  knight  had  won  the  first  item,  the 
24 


KISS     OF     A     MAIDEN'S     HAND 

red  knight  the  wrestling  bout,  and  now  they  came 
with  naked  swords  to  the  decisive  issue. 

The  prize  was  the  kiss  of  a  maiden's  hand. 

They  crossed  swords  and  began.  It  could  be 
seen  at  once  they  were  closely  matched.  Eagerly 
they  feinted  and  cleverly  they  parried.  Cun- 
ningly the  red  knight  sought  to  gain  an  open- 
ing. Skilfully  the  gray  knight  kept  him  at  bay 
and  forced  him  to  look  to  his  honors.  The  ex- 
cited thanes  watched  and  cheered.  Backward  and 
forward  the  combatants  strove  for  the  mastery. 
Fire  leaped  from  their  swords  and  flashed  from 
their  eyes.  But  the  cunning  of  the  red  knight 
at  last  found  an  opening  and  hacked  an  ugly 
wound  on  the  gray  knight's  left  shoulder.  Bravely 
the  wounded  man  fought  on  and  sought  to  win 
the  prize.  But  the  cunning  of  the  red  knight 
again  prevailed.  Parrying  a  deadly  thrust,  he 
pierced  the  right  arm  of  the  gray  knight,  and 
claimed  the  victory. 

Amid  the  plaudits  of  the  throng  the  red 
knight  came  to  claim  the  prize.  The  Saxon  maid- 
ens blushed  and  smiled,  and  sought  to  win  the 
victor's  choice.  Slowly  and  tantalizingly  the  red 
knight  walked  before  them  all,  then  came  and 
3  25 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

knelt  before  the  beautiful  Elgiva.  And  as  he 
did  so,  he  cast  a  look  of  hate  at  the  fair  Eadwine, 
and  smiled  a  taunting  smile. 

With  the  quick  passion  of  Saxon  youth,  the 
prince  leaped  to  his  feet  and  flung  his  glove  full 
in  the  victor's  face,  and  stepped  out  into  the  field 
of  combat,  amid  the  wild  cheers  of  the  royal 
thanes. 

The  red  knight  responded  with  fierce,  flashing 
eyes  and  desperate  mien.  And  the  excited  throng 
gave  place,  and  held  its  breath,  as  the  contest 
began  anew. 

The  combatants  selected  their  long  spears  and 
took  the  appointed  mark.  Again  and  again  they 
hurled  them  farther,  and  farther  still,  a  spear- 
head only  separating  them,  and,  do  what  they 
could,  neither  could  gain  advantage.  At  last,  how- 
ever, taking  a  mighty  spring,  and  lifting  himself 
high  in  the  air,  the  fair  prince  cast  his  weapon 
and  fell  a  full  spear's  length  in  front  of  the  red 
knight,  and  claimed  the  victory. 

Thus  they   came  to  the  wrestling.      Stripped 
for  the  fray,  they  took  their  positions.      Round 
and  round  they  wheeled,  seeking  the  grip,  press- 
26 


KISS     OF     A     MAIDEN'S     HAND 

ing  with  might,  forcing  and  drawing,  lifting  and 
whirling  each  other,  recovering  anon,  and  return- 
ing with  zest  to  the  throw.  The  reach  and 
strength  of  the  tall  Eadwine  were  matched  by  the 
cunning  and  daring  of  the  lithe-limbed  youth. 
Round  and  round  they  wheeled,  the  excited  thanes 
shouting  and  cheering  them  on,  till  at  last  the 
red  knight  got  his  grip  and  threw  the  fair  prince 
to  the  ground,  himself  falling  heavily  on  him. 

Rising,  they  breathed  awhile,  then  embraced 
each  other  once  again.  Cleverly  they  schemed  for 
the  grip,  wheeled  round  and  round,  retreated  and 
advanced,  and  beat  lower  and  lower.  The  wild 
thanes  shouted  louder  and  louder,  and  danced 
round  the  panting,  steaming  combatants.  On 
they  wrestled,  on  and  round,  till,  after  long  and 
strenuous  efforts,  the  fair  prince  gained  the  mas- 
tery and  bore  the  red  knight  heavily  to  the 
ground. 

Rising  again,  the  combatants  came  to  the  final 
bout,  loudly  cheered  by  the  much  excited  throng. 
Long  and  furiously  they  strove  together.  Per- 
spiration broke  and  streamed  from  their  bodies. 
Every  muscle  played  around  its  victim.  Time 
and  again  it  seemed  as  if  one  must  go  down.  As 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

oft  he  recovered  and  seemed  to  more  than  hold 
his  own.  At  last,  however,  the  mighty  Eadwine 
lifted  his  wiry  foe  and  strongly  threw  him.  But 
as  they  fell  the  red  knight  cunningly  twisted 
round,  came  down  on  the  top  of  the  fair  prince, 
and  claimed  the  fall. 

Having  rested  awhile,  and  refusing  to  be 
clothed  with  byrnies  of  mail,  the  stubborn  com- 
batants came  to  the  last  decisive  issue.  Crossing 
their  blades,  they  fenced  very  carefully  for  a 
time,  neither  seeking  to  claim  the  advantage. 

Then  the  fair  prince  smiled,  and  looked  as  if 
he  had  taken  the  mark  of  his  antagonist.  A 
great  hush  fell  upon  the  excited  throng.  The 
royal  thanes  watched  the  prince  keenly,  and  El- 
giva  held  her  hand  on  her  heart.  And  suddenly 
the  long  sword  went  flying  from  the  red  knight's 
hand. 

"  Victory !  "  shouted  the  great  throng. 

But  the  swordless  knight  clasped  his  stout 
seax,  and  refused  to  yield. 

Declining  to  meet  his  foe  with  so  great  advan- 
tage, the  fair  prince  cast  his  sword  away,  and 
met  him  with  his  own  weapon.  Round  and  round 
they  circled,  like  wild  beasts  waiting  for  the 
28 


KISS     OF     A     MAIDEN'S     HAND 

spring.  Long  and  cunningly  they  fought,  now 
one  and  now  the  other  seeming  to  gain  advan- 
tage, till,  again,  the  superior  reach  and  skill  of 
Eadwine's  swordsmanship  brought  him  the  victory. 
Leaping  on  his  fierce  antagonist,  he  bore  him  to 
the  ground.  But  as  the  red  knight  fell,  he 
plunged  his  seax  deep  into  the  prince's  thigh. 
Ere  he  could  recover,  however,  Eadwine  was  bend- 
ing over  him,  and  held  him  completely  at  his 
mercy. 

"  Bravo !  "  cried  a  voice  at  Elgiva's  side. 

She  turned  and  saw  it  was  Eadmund,  the 
thane,  that  stood  at  the  gate  and  pleaded  with 
little  White  Heart.  And  in  his  bleeding  hand 
was  a  gray  mask. 

"  Bravo !  "  shouted  the   frenzied  crowd. 

And  they  cheered  the  victor  loud  and  long. 

Then,  amid  the  plaudits,  the  fair  prince  came 
and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  beautiful  Elgiva. 

"  Wait ! "  muttered  the  red  knight  as  he  crept 
away.  "  Wait,  Eadwine !  Soon  shall  I  be  re- 
venged! Soon!  The  beautiful  Elgiva  will  yet 
be  mine ! " 

And  lo!  it  was  the  voice  of  Oslac. 


CHAPTER    V 

A      FAINTING      HIND 

THAT  evening  Elgiva  walked  the  royal  gar- 
dens at  Kingston,  alone  and  lonely.  The  holy 
incense  which  perfumed  the  air  with  the  saintly 
White  Heart  near,  had  gone,  and  a  strange,  be- 
wildering force  seemed  to  have  entered  the  atmos- 
phere. The  weird  portents  of  the  heathen  tem- 
ple and  the  wild  excitement  of  the  tournament 
had  combined  to  unnerve  her.  She  felt  not  only 
lonely  wanting  little  White  Heart,  but  as  if  in 
her  own  life  some  dire  event  were  fast  impending. 

From  one  window  of  the  royal  manor  the  old 
king  watched  her,  in  sympathy  with  her  sadness 
and  with  reverence  for  her  grief.  From  another 
window  the  wandering  eyes  of  Oslac  looked.  And 
when  Eligva  turned  aside  and  took  the  woodland 
path  to  the  river,  he  hastened  out  and  followed 
her  unseen. 

To  and  fro  she  paced  the  riverside,  wonder- 
ing much  and  nursing  her  dire  forebodings,  till 
30 


A     FAINTING     HIND 

suddenly  she  became  aware  of  the  presence  of 
Oslac.  The  look  of  him  she  had  not  liked  of 
late:  his  eyes  haunted  her  soul  with  dread.  To- 
night, especially,  she  did  not  wish  his  company. 

Turning  quickly,  she  entered  the  wood  again 
and  hurried  toward  the  manor-house.  But  Oslac 
outpaced  her,  and  at  a  bend  of  the  road  stepped 
out  on  her  path. 

"  How  now,  Elgiva,  surely  not  running 
away?  " 

"  I  came  out  to  be  alone,  Oslac,  and  m'erely 
wish  to  realize  my  purpose." 

"  Nay,  thou  art  lonely,  fair  cousin,  and  in 
need  of  merry  company.  The  burden  of  thy  grief 
will  else  prove  too  heavy  for  thy  white  shoulders." 

"  Not  so,  Oslac.  'Twill  only  run  its  course 
if  left  alone.  The  bitter  waters  must  rise  and 
flow  ere  the  sweet  can  come  again." 

"  Nay,  cousin.  Let  me  accompany  thee,  rather, 
and  rout  the  gloomy  specters.  In  merry  love 
thou'lt  find  a  way  to  laughter." 

"  Not  so,  Oslac.  Give  way  and  let  me  be 
alone.  No  man  can  bear  a  woman's  sorrow." 

"  Not  even  Edwy  the  fair?  " 

"  Edwy !  Ah,  his  soul  is  pure,  with  reverence 
31 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

in  it.  He  would  not  wish  to  come  between  my 
grief  and  me." 

"  Have  care,  Elgiva.  Thy  surliness  doth  not 
overplease  me." 

"Then   let   me   pass." 

"  Nay !  I've  come  to  woo  thee,  and  mean  that 
thou  shalt  come." 

"  To  woo  me  ?  Oslac !  Oh,  speak  not  so ! 
Thou  must  not.  Let  me  go." 

"Hath  Edwy   spoken?" 

"What  though?" 

"  This :  that  I  love  thee,  cousin  dear,  and  hate 
him,  and  must  have  thee  for  mine  own." 

"  That  can  never  be." 

"  Never?  I  have  willed  it,  Elgiva,  and  never 
yet  have  failed  to  have  my  will.  Come,  fair 
cousin,  come,  be  mine,  and  thou  shalt  fill  the  days 
with  love  and  splendor.  Thou  may'st  yet  be 
queen  with  me  as  with  the  Fair." 

"  Queen  with  thee !  "  cried  Elgiva,  with  fine 
scorn.  "  Queenship  doth  not  woo  me,  but  heart 
of  purest  love  and  noble  deeds  like  Edwy's." 

"  Noble  deeds,  forsooth !  What  are  they,  of 
what  use,  and  to  what  purpose — in  this  world? 
Of  the  next  no  man  knoweth.  Power  is  all  I  wish, 
32 


A    FAINTING    HIND 

and  all  that  men  desire,  how  best  they  may  attain 
it.  Come,  Elgiva,  thou  art  mine;  come  and  let 
me  woo  thee,  or  by  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell 
I  shall  compel  thee." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her.  She  screamed  and 
struggled  in  his  grasp.  Laughing,  he  covered 
her  mouth,  and  sought  to  force  her  from  the  path. 

Making  a  desperate  effort,  she  slipped  from  his 
arms  and  bounded  away  like  a  frightened  deer 
running  for  life  and  liberty.  Oslac  darted  after 
her,  and  was  about  to  pounce  on  her  again,  when 
Elgiva  stumbled  and  fell  with  a  crash.  Unable 
to  stop,  he  rolled  over  her,  falling  heavily  and  cut- 
ting himself  severely. 

But  in  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet  and  bend- 
ing over  her. 

Just  then  the  sounds  of  footsteps  were  heard 
hurrying  through  the  wood.  Oslac  dived  among 
the  trees  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  fled  with 
all  his  speed. 

In  a  moment  the  old  and  feeble  king,  with  two 
of  his  attendants,  came  running  on  the  scene  and 
found  Elgiva,  senseless  and  bleeding,  lying  on  the 
path. 

The  courtiers  lifted  the  fair  form  with  gentle 
33 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

hands  and  carried  her  into  the  royal  home.  There 
they  tended  her  till  consciousness  returned,  an 
hour  later.  She  awoke,  with  a  shiver,  crying: 

"  Nay,  Oslac !  Never,  never !  Let  me  go ! 
Let  me  go !  " 

Then  she  started  up,  looked  around  with  a 
frightened  air,  covered  her  face,  and  wept  pas- 
sionately. 

Anon  she  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep,  from  which, 
however,  she  soon  waked,  starting  up  with  wild, 
fearful  looks,  screaming: 

"  Never,  Oslac !     Never !     Let  me  go !  " 

So  all  night  long,  till  at  dawn  of  day,  deep 
sleep  fell  upon  her,  and  gave  her  peace. 

The  king  understood,  and  learned  with  anger 
that  Oslac  was  the  hound  that  was  chasing  this 
fair  and  trembling  hind.  Full  well  he  knew,  too, 
the  hound  had  torn  and  rent  her  had  not  he  been 
near  to  save.  That  Oslac  should  be  held  in  leash 
henceforth,  he  swore,  on  the  honor  of  his  soul,  in 
the  presence  of  the  fainting  maid. 


CHAPTER    VI 

FOR    THE    GOOD    OF    A    SOUL 

THE  anger  of  the  king  was  great.  For  some 
time  the  court  had  been  filled  with  noise  about 
Oslac,  though  he  had  closed  his  ears  to  loud- 
mouthed rumor,  making  many  excuses.  With  his 
own  eyes  he  had  now  seen  for  himself,  and  himself 
been  just  in  time  to  save  the  comeliest  maiden  of 
the  court. 

It  troubled  him  much  and  came  to  wear  a 
garb  of  national  importance.  It  was  not  only 
that  the  purity  of  the  court  was  threatened,  but 
the  integrity  of  the  realm.  Oslac,  he  feared, 
would  become  a  source  of  trouble  in  the  land  un- 
less curbed  in  his  wild  career;  and  how  best  to 
curb  him,  the  old  king  scarcely  knew. 

To  let  him  follow  his  riotous  strength  and  wil- 
fulness  would  mean  anarchy,  intrigue,  and  folly. 
It  was  due  to  the  late  king,  Eadmund,  that  no 
danger  should  stand  in  the  way  of  his  son  Ead- 
wine's  succession. 

35 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Worn  out  by  a  life  of  continual  suffering,  and 
crushed  by  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  the  state, 
the  good  King  Eadred  felt  the  time  might  not 
be  far  ahead  when  his  feeble  hand  would  fall 
from  the  helm  of  the  ship.  The  weal  of  his  peo- 
ple and  the  interests  of  the  nation  demanded  that 
a  kingly  soul  should  wear  the  purple.  Oslac  was 
ambitious  and  might  have  dreams  of  power  that 
would  clash  with  the  rights  of  Eadwine.  A  man 
of  his  sort  would  fill  the  land  with  violence  and 
teach  the  people  to  sin. 

Yet  the  heart  of  the  pious  old  king  longed 
over  Oslac  for  good.  Had  he  not  watched  him 
grow  up,  and  rejoiced  with  others  in  the  strength 
of  the  youth?  If  only  he  could  be  taught  to  love 
the  pure  and  noble,  how  great  he  would  be,  and 
how  mighty  for  good !  If  by  any  means  this  could 
be  effected,  then  would  the  throne  be  safe. 

Thus  the  king  came  to  think  of  the  monastery 
for  Oslac.  At  least,  that  might  restrain  him  for 
good.  There,  if  anywhere,  he  might  turn  to  peni- 
tence and  holy  deeds,  and  save  his  soul  at  the 
cost  of  a  kingdom.  This  the  good  king — totter- 
ing to  his  grave,  tired  of  life's  vanities,  and  dis- 
illusioned of  the  world's  temptations — had  come 
36 


FOR     THE     GOOD     OF     A     SOUL 

to  deem  was  worth  the  fairest  kingdom.  So  to 
the  monastery  Oslac  would  go,  if  only  Dunstan 
would  approve. 

The  minister  and  cleric  was  now  at  court  and 
was  summoned  to  the  royal  presence. 

He  came,  a  little  man  of  feeble,  sickly  frame 
and  pale  face,  some  thirty  winters  old,1  with  eyes 
full  of  burning  light  and  bounding  life,  and  with 
a  massive  brow,  broad  and  high,  that  told  of  ex- 
traordinary power  and  genius.  Mark  him  as 
standing  first  in  the  long  line  of  ecclesiastical 
statesmen,  who  counted  among  them  Lanfranc  and 
Wolsey  and  ended  in  Laud.  Of  great  application 
and  remarkable  talent,  Dunstan  had  proved  him- 
self capable  of  conducting  the  duties  of  ecclesi- 
astic and  statesman  with  uncommon  skill  and 
energy.  Quick-witted,  of  tenacious  memory,  a 

1  The  date  of  Dunstan 's  birth  is  uncertain.  The  English 
Chronicle  places  it  in  Athelstane's  first  year  924  or  925,  and  is 
followed  by  most  writers.  But  Green  (Conquest  of  England, 
p.  282,  note  3)  would  throw  it  back  into  the  days  of  Eadward  I, 
about  twenty  years  earlier  say,  as  he  thinks  it  improbable  that 
Dunstan  would  rise  into  power  so  early  and  become  the  guide 
and  counselor  of  Eadred  between  the  ages  of  twenty-two  and 
thirty-one.  The  writer  holds  to  the  traditional  date,  and  sees 
throughout  a  man  of  such  brilliant  and  overmastering  genius 
that  he  finds  it  easy  to  believe  Dunstan  reached  the  zenith  of 
his  power  ere  thirty  winters  old. 

37 


ready  and  fluent  speaker,  gay  and  genial  in  ad- 
dress, an  artist,  a  musician,  he  was  at  the  same 
time  an  indefatigable  worker,  a  man  of  stern  self- 
will,  great  piety,  and  fervent  devotion. 

In  early  youth  severe  monastic  asceticism  and 
overstudy  had  deranged  his  brain  for  a  time,  and 
produced  aberrations  of  intellect  that  were  taken 
to  proclaim  intercourse  with  supernatural  powers. 
Now  his  extraordinary  talents,  energy,  and  sub- 
tlety had  come  to  their  maturity  and  were  all  ex- 
erted for  his  own  self-assertion,  the  advancement 
of  ecclesiastical  power,  and  the  subjection  of 
England  to  papal  supremacy. 

A  fine  dash  of  satanic  force  is  ever  at  work 
in  Dunstan's  saintly  soul.  Lust  of  power  and 
pride  of  place  abound  in  him.  It  is  born  in  him 
to  have  his  way,  to  be  first  in  everything,  and  to 
achieve  his  ends  by  fair  means  or  foul.  First  in 
his  father's  hall  he  had  been,  and  first  among  the 
scholars  at  Glastonbury,  and  first  he  would  be  in 
the  state  and  in  the  Church. 

Twice  already  had  this  assertiveness  led  to  his 

expulsion    from    court,    and    roused    enmity    and 

jealousy  among  the  royal  thanes.     But  Dunstan 

could  not  be  suppressed,  and  returned  to  displace 

38 


FOR     THE     GOOD     OF     A     SOUL 

every  rival  and  take  to  himself,  by  virtue  of  his 
masterful  genius,  the  first  place  in  the  realm.  The 
brilliancy  of  his  mind,  the  cunning  of  his  coun- 
sel, the  craft  of  his  handiwork,  and  the  force  of 
his  measures  beat  down  jealousies  and  made  him 
of  transcendent  influence  in  his  time. 

To  him,  therefore,  by  force  of  character,  Ead- 
red  the  king,  bit  by  bit,  had  surrendered  his 
conscience,  treasury,  and  authority.  To  him  he 
turned  in  every  hour  of  need.  And,  beyond  all 
doubt,  Dunstan,  pale  and  frail  though  he  looks, 
must  be  reckoned  one  of  the  greatest  men  Eng- 
land has  ever  produced.  Like  Luther  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  he  is  the  principal  figure  in  the 
picture  of  the  tenth.  Throughout  all  its  strug- 
gles he  stalks  before  us  in  gigantic  stature — 
glorious  as  an  archangel  or  terrible  and  hideous 
as  Satan ! * 

When  Dunstan  entered  the  royal  chamber  the 
old  king  was  murmuring  to  himself: 

"  The  monastery !  Ay,  that  will  be  best  for 
Oslac.  He  is  ambitious,  lusty,  overfond  of  maids 
and  power.  If  only  Dunstan  will  approve,  and 

1  See  Kemble's  Saxons  in  England,  vol.  ii,  p.  450  et  seq., 
and  Green's  Conquest  of  England,  p.  294  et  seq. 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

keep  him  from  evil  and  from  making  mischief  in 

the  realm : 

The  abbot  started  with  surprise  as  he  listened 
to  the  king's  speech.  The  surprise  gave  way  to 
pleasure  soon  as  a  cunning  plan  took  shape  in  his 
eager  brain.  He  drew  the  king's  attention  and 
bowed. 

"  Welcome,  Dunstan !  We  have  sent  for  thee 
once  more  to  seek  thy  counsel." 

"  The  Lord  King's  honored  servant.  Speak 
on." 

"  Concerning  Oslac.  His  life  of  late  has  not 
been  to  our  liking." 

"  Nor  to  that  of  some  of  thy  fairest  maidens, 
sire,  as  they  have  proved  to  their  sorrow." 
"  We  wish  thy  counsel,  then,  as  to  Oslac." 
"What  thinkest  thou,  O  king?" 
"  That  the  monastery  would  be  well  for  him." 
"  The    monastery !       Thou    art    wise    in    thy 
choice,  Lord  King.      The  company  of  holy  men 
will  better  him  and   piety   detract   from   his   am- 
bition." 

"  It  is  his  ambition,  added  to  his  sin,  compels 
our  action.      Eadwine  succeeds  us   on   our  death, 
and  we  must  see  to  it,  both  for  our  brother's  sake 
40 


and  his  own  noble-mindedness,  that  no  danger 
lurks  in  the  way." 

Dunstan  bowed,  and  smiled  approval,  having, 
however,  other  thoughts  of  Eadwine's  noble-mind- 
edness. 

"  Take  him  to  Glastonbury,"  continued  the 
king,  "  and  lead  him  to  repentance.  Make  sure 
that  he  is  kept  from  working  mischief  in  the 
realm." 

"  To-morrow  some  monks  are  traveling  thither, 
and,  if  it  please  my  Lord  King,  will  take  charge 
of  him,"  spake  Dunstan,  his  quick  brain  delight- 
ing in  the  plan  already  formed. 

"  Well  and  good,"  answered  the  king.  "  Call 
him  now,  that  we  may  speak  with  him." 

Oslac,  summoned  to  the  presence  of  the  king, 
came,  wondering  what  the  wrath  of  the  throne 
decreed.  Dunstan  received  him  with  a  genial,  per- 
plexing smile.  The  old  king  looked  on  him  with 
eyes  that  filled  with  pity  and  almost  brought  him 
to  shame. 

"  Thy  life  hath  brought  us  sorrow  and  threat- 
ens the  purity  of  our  court.  For  long  we  have 
shut  our  ears  to  rumors  and  made  excuses.  But 
yestereve  we  saw  with  our  own  eyes,  and  can  not 
4  41 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

let  thy  follies  pass  unpunished.  We  have  decreed 
that  thou  be  banished  from  court  and  don  the 
Benedictine  gown.  Thus  mayest  thou  make  retri- 
bution for  thy  sins  and  prove  to  all  that  purity  is 
honored  at  the  court  of  Eadred !  " 

The  sentence  fell  upon  Oslac  like  a  bolt  out 
of  heaven.  He  staggered  and  reeled  under  the 
blow.  He  scarce  could  believe  his  hearing. 

"  The  monastery !  "  he  gasped,  retreating  from 
the  king  and  cowering.  "  The  monastery !  Make 
a  monk  of  me!  Surely,  oh  surely,  thou  art  jest- 
ing, sire?  " 

"  Nay !  Our  decree  is  fixed.  To-morrow  some 
monks  travel  west  to  Glastonbury  and  take  thee 
with  them." 

"  Surely " 

"  Enough !  Go,  and  in  holy  service  wear  away 
thy  sin.  Thy  safety  lies  in  noble  deeds  and  life 
of  pious  effort.  Only  thus  is  there  hope  for  thee. 
Take  him  away,  Dunstan,  and  see  that  all  is  well." 

The  pale-faced  abbot,  smiling  slyly  to  himself, 
led  forth  Oslac  staggering  under  the  strange  sen- 
tence the  king  had  passed  upon  him. 


CHAPTER   VII 

"  CHRIST    AND    KING  " 

THE  turn  events  had  taken  added  zest  to  the 
schemes  floating  in  the  brain  of  Dunstan.  For 
long  his  keen  eyes  had  foreseen  difficulties  in  the 
matter  of  succession.  Not  only  were  these  to  be 
found  in  the  spirit  and  ambition  of  Oslac,  but  in 
dangers  that  threatened  his  own  place  and  power 
on  the  accession  of  Eadwine.  The  integrity  of 
the  youth  stood  in  the  way  of  the  cleric. 

Accustomed  for  long  to  influence  and  force 
the  feeble  mind  of  the  pious  Eadred,  the  de- 
signing minister  feared  the  self-determining  tem- 
per of  the  heir.  The  ecclesiastical  policy  on 
which  he  had  long  set  his  heart,  and  to  which  he 
desired  to  direct,  and  then  to  subject,  the  powers 
of  the  state,  stood  in  danger.  The  glorious  pos- 
sibilities of  King  Alfred's  subtle  phrase  "  Christ 
and  King "  had  taken  possession  of  Dunstan's 
brain  and  fostered  dreams  of  sacred  empire  and 
papal  dominion.  The  union  of  the  scepter  and 
43 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

the  cross,  with  the  symbol  of  the  Church  com- 
manding the  weapons  of  the  state,  took  definite 
shape  in  the  great  ecclesiastic's  mind,  and  led 
him  to  find  in  papal  supremacy  and  temporal 
sovereignty  the  consummation  of  all  his  de- 
sires. 

Thus  Dunstan  in  his  day  headed  a  movement 
that  turned  its  eyes  eagerly  to  Rome,  and  pictured 
a  celestial  empire,  with  the  Pope  of  Rome  as  uni- 
versal emperor  and  his  representative  in  England 
as  king  of  England's  king.  To  this  end  he 
sought  to  bring  the  English  Church,  that  had  long 
declined  to  recognize  the  full  authority  of  the 
popes,  into  a  closer  alliance  with  Rome  and  to 
establish  throughout  the  land  monastic  institu- 
tions, under  the  Benedictine  rule,  that  united  the 
monastic  bodies  into  a  grand  confederation  sub- 
ject to  Rome.  Though  long  known  in  Eng- 
land, the  Benedictine  rule  had  been  only  very 
partially  introduced,  the  different  monasteries  rec- 
ognizing the  institutes  of  their  founders,  or  ob- 
serving their  own  regulations,  or  openly  defying 
all  restraint,  and  insisting,  with  English  force 
and  spirit,  on  their  rights  of  liberty  and  inde- 
pendence. 


"CHRIST     AND     KING" 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered,  therefore,  that  when 
Dunstan,  with  unswerving  energy,  brought  the 
force  of  his  genius  and  prestige  at  court  to  ad- 
vance ecclesiastical  power  and  to  enforce  celibacy 
on  the  clergy,  with  ultimate  dreams  of  papal  do- 
minion, he  encountered  opposition. 

Between  the  aristocracy  and  the  clergy  a 
close  alliance  always  existed  in  England.  Many 
of  the  servants  of  the  Church  were  the  sons  of 
nobles  great  and  powerful  in  the  land.  Hitherto 
they  had  exerted  the  right  of  private  judgment 
on  the  subject  of  clerical  celibacy,  and  certainly 
married  in  large  numbers.  Hence  these  men — 
"  secular "  clergy,  as  they  were  called  contemp- 
tuously by  Dunstan — men  who  desired  to  remain 
men  and  live  as  men  in  holy  wedlock  though  priests 
of  God — formed  a  powerful  party  by  uniting 
with  nobles  who  had  become  indignant  at  the 
haughty  conduct  of  the  chancellor. 

The  ranks  were  closing  for  battle,  and  Dun- 
stan had  determined  to  realize  his  dreams  and 
secure  the  success  of  the  Benedictine  by  methods 
nice  or  otherwise. 

In  the  struggle  that  was  impending  the  abbot 
saw  that  Oslac  could  be  of  service  to  him.  The 
45 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

passionate  love  of  the  youth  for  Elgiva,  his  jeal- 
ous hatred  of  Eadwine  (suspected  of  favoring  the 
"seculars"),  and  his  unscrupulous  ambition,  all 
could  be  made  to  work  out  the  will  of  Dunstan. 
Thus  he  heard  with  glad  surprise  the  sentence  of 
the  king,  and  thus  he  left  the  royal  presence 
smiling,  leading  Oslac  by  the  hand,  a  tool  deliv- 
ered to  his  keeping  to  work  his  will,  to  realize  his 
dreams. 

What  though  in  the  conflict  the  tool  should 
perish,  soul  and  all,  and  the  nation  be  thrown  into 
tumult  and  blood?  Blood  and  tumult,  and  ruin 
of  soul,  these  are  the  steps  by  which  "  Christ " 
will  climb  the  throne  of  the  world  and  rule  as 
"King!"  But  the  name  "Christ,"  in  mathe- 
matical formula,  must  be  put  thus :  "  Christ "  = 
Holy  Church  =  Pope  of  Rome  =  Dunstan,  Chan- 
cellor of  England. 

Ho,  then,  Oslac,  welcome,  for  "  Christ "  hath 
need  of  thee,  and  Dunstan  work — from  which,  in 
time,  thou  wilt  recoil  in  horror! 

When  Oslac  was  led  forth  from  the  presence 
of  the  king  he  burst  into  tears  and  cried  that  pun- 
ishment of  another  kind  might  be  enforced  upon 
him.  To  a  man  of  his  spirit  the  gown  of  the 
46 


"CHRIST     AND     KING" 

Benedictine  was  the  greatest  hardship  that  could 
be  imposed.  He  had  sense  enough,  too,  to  under- 
stand the  hypocrisy  involved  in  his  becoming  a 
monk,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  revolted  from  it. 
A  man  who  is  open  in  his  sin  is  ashamed  to  don 
the  garb  of  hyprocritical  piety.  However  bad,  he 
would  flee  that  added  sin,  in  much  the  same  way 
as  a  pure  white  nun  would  shun  the  gay  costume 
of  the  foul  coquette. 

The  prospect  seen  through  tears  was  repulsive 
to  the  mind  of  Oslac.  But  seen  in  the  light  and 
color  with  which  Dunstan's  rosy  mind  surrounded 
it,  the  prospect  opened  up  dreams  of  power  and 
glory  pleasant  to  the  mind  of  the  youth.  The 
subtle  flattery  and  humor  of  the  abbot  wiped 
away  the  tears  and  made  the  gown  of  the 
Benedictine  seem  the  most  desirable  garb  in  the 
land. 

"  Thou  canst  not  be  expected  to  reform  in  a 
day,  and  thou  need'st  not  fear  thou  wilt  be  hardly 
dealt  by  at  Glastonbury.  I  will  see  to  it  that  kind- 
ness is  shown  thee  there." 

The  abbot  smiled  as  he  saw  the  youth  bestir 
himself  as  if  a  new  hope  were  dawning. 

"  Thou  must  not  think  thou  wilt  be  buried 
47 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

alive,  cut  off  out  of  the  land  of  the  living.  When 
the  time  comes  thou  wilt  find  scope  for  thy  hands 
and  room  for  thine  ambition — as  a  faithful  serv- 
ant of  Holy  Church,  I  mean." 

And  Dunstan  smiled  on  Oslac  again. 

"  At  least  thou  wilt  have  cause  to  remember 
the  fair  Eadwine,  and  time  alike  to  nurse  thy 
wrath  and  weave  thy  rod  of  vengeance.  Dost  thou 
understand?  " 

Oslac  did  understand. 

"  Meantime  the  great  forest  of  Selwood  may 
keep  thee  from  wearying  and  afford  thee  ample 
sport.  There  the  great  Alfred,  when  young  like 
thou,  wound  the  horn,  bent  the  bow,  and  hunted 
the  stag.  There,  too,  in  later  years,  he  unfurled 
the  banner  of  his  fallen  fortunes  and  issued 
forth  to  victory.  The  associations  of  the  place 
may  be  pleasant,  Oslac.  As  thou  dost  know,  too, 
red  deer  sport  on  the  Mendips  and  Glastonbury 
is  not  far  away." 

The  cleric  smiled  as  he  played  upon  Oslac's 
love  of  the  chase,  and  still  more  when  he  saw  the 
smile  spread  over  the  face  of  the  youth.  That 
smile  meant  victory  to  Dunstan. 

"  But  thou  must  be  careful  not  to  cause  the 
48 


"CHRIST    AND     KING" 

abbot  anger,  and  ever  ready  to  obey  his  will. 
Every  Benedictine  is  pledged  to  that.  Wilt  thou 
swear?  " 

Oslac  rose,  and  took  the  abbot  by  the  hand  and 
swore. 

That  grip  of  the  hand  and  that  oath  meant 
death  to  the  youth  and  ruin  of  soul,  yet  he  did 
both  with  a  smile,  and  with  a  new  hope  bounding 
in  his  heart.  Thus  gladly  do  we  enter  the  gilded 
path  of  sin  that  leadeth  to  death,  as  if  a  new 
earth  and  a  new  heaven  lay  that  way. 

The  prospect  now  seen  in  the  light  and  color 
with  which  Dunstan's  rosy  brain  painted  it  was 
more  than  pleasing  to  Oslac.  What  though  death 
crouched  at  the  end  of  the  path?  The  youth  saw 
not.  All  that  appeared  to  him  was  that  this  path 
opened  up  a  new  life  for  him,  and  promised  to 
lead  to  the  goal  of  his  ambition.  The  road  to 
glory  was  the  road  to  Glastonbury,  wearing  a 
Benedictine  robe,  and  winning  the  favor  of  Dun- 
stan.  This  he  had  never  hoped  to  win,  but  could 
not  doubt  the  abbot's  smile. 

Ho,  then,  a  monk  now  he  would  be  with  con- 
tentment, hoping  for  the  day  soon  to  come,  and 
praying  for  it  too  with  heart  and  mind,  if  that 
49 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

were  any  use,  when  opportunity  would  sail  along 
the  stream  of  his  desire. 

Sooner  than  either  Dunstan  or  Oslac  antici- 
pated that  day  came,  blushing  in  its  innocence  as 
it  leaped  smiling  from  the  east,  but  laden  with 
woe  as  it  fell  weeping  into  the  shades  of  the  west. 


50 


CHAPTER    VIII 

TWO    GREAT    VICTORIES 

THROUGHOUT  his  life  Eadred  the  king  had 
fought  against  sickness  and  weakness  of  body  as 
nobly  as  he  had  fought  against  the  Dane.  But 
in  the  autumn  of  955  the  good  fight  came  to  an 
end.  As  the  glory  of  the  other  world  drew  nigh 
and  the  golden  splendor  of  its  streets,  his  soul, 
death-smitten,  longed  for  one  thing.  The  royal 
hoard  lay  at  Glastonbury,  with  its  wealth  of  gold 
and  priceless  earthly  treasures,  and  these  the  king 
desired  to  see  once  more  ere  he  died. 

Dunstan  was  at  Prime-Song,  on  St.  Clement's 
morn,  when  the  messengers  of  the  king  came  with 
the  news  that  Eadred  lay  dying  at  Frome  and 
wished  to  look  on  his  gold  again.  The  news 
touched  a  cord  in  the  great  chancellor's  heart  that 
wailed  a  note  of  sorrow  for  the  friend  he  loved 
and  ruled.  So,  to  obey  this  dying  wish,  he  rose 
hurriedly  from  his  knees  and  made  haste  to  bring 
the  king  his  gold. 

51 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Late  that  afternoon  Dunstan  and  the  royal 
hoard  drew  nigh  to  Frome  along  the  gray  Somer- 
setshire lanes  that  led  to  the  town.  The  cold 
November  blasts  chilled  his  heart  as  he  toiled 
along,  and  did  not  improve  the  prospect  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  far-seeing  eye  on  the  death  of 
the  old  king. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  clouds  of  darkness  as 
the  heavy  wains  bearing  the  golden  treasures 
crept  into  the  town.  The  death-howl  of  the  women 
about  the  court  told  the  abbot  as  he  entered  that 
the  desire  of  the  king  had  not  been  granted,  and 
that  his  eyes  would  look  no  more  on  the  gold  and 
glory  of  an  earthly  throne. 

The  thanes  of  the  court  had  already  fled  to 
the  presence  of  the  new  king,  and  Dunstan  en- 
tered the  death-chamber  to  find  the  corpse  for- 
saken, save  by  the  women  whose  hearts  led  them 
faithfully  to  perform  the  honors  of  death  no  less 
than  the  duties  of  life.  With  sorrowful  thoughts 
the  great  chancellor  looked  on  death  and  kissed 
the  cold  brow  of  the  king. 

"  Eadred,  noble  Eadred,  pious  and  good,  thou 
art  now  beyond  the  pain  of  life  and  strife  of 
men.  May  thine  eyes  weep  no  more,  and  ever 
52 


TWO     GREAT     VICTORIES 

look  on  thrones  of  shining  gold.  Requiescat  in 
pace!  " 

Alone  next  day  Dunstan  carried  Eadred  to 
his  grave  beside  his  brother  Eadmund  at  Glaston- 
bury.  On  the  top  of  the  hoard  he  laid  him,  in 
the  heavy  wains,  amid  his  gold  and  treasure. 

Behind  the  "  Caesar  of  all  the  Britons,"  the 
"  king  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,"  and  his  worldly 
splendor,  walked  the  frail  frame  of  the  great 
chancellor,  seeing  dreams  of  empire  and  glory  rise 
above  the  wains  with  their  burdens  of  death  and 
vanity.  The  pale  face  of  the  abbot  was  the  play- 
ground of  thoughts  and  fancies  that  leaped 
through  his  massive  brain  and  found  a  way  to  life 
and  victory  out  of  death  and  seeming  defeat.  On 
the  morrow  he  resolved  to  set  out  on  the  errand 
the  thanes  had  gone,  and  gained  consolation  from 
the  thought  he  would  not  arrive  too  late  to  have 
his  will. 

From  Glastonbury,  at  dawn  next  day,  Dun- 
stan hastened  to  Kingston  to  attend  the  formal 
election  of  the  new  king.  The  system  of  hered- 
itary succession  to  the  throne  was  not  strictly 
observed  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  kingdoms.  Though 
the  succession  was  limited  to  one  family,  it  was 
53 


not,  at  this  period  or  for  some  centuries  later, 
regulated  by  the  law  of  primogeniture.  Some- 
times younger  brothers  were  preferred  to  the 
elder,  or  a  brother  of  the  last  sovereign  succeeded 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  children.  The  inheritance 
of  the  crown,  too,  was  in  the  election  of  the  Na- 
tional Council,  whose  choice  might  be  determined 
in  favor  of  a  particular  claimant  by  consideration 
of  maturer  age,  superior  talents,  or  popularity. 
The  finding  of  the  council  was  absolute  and 
final. 

Taking  advantage  of  this,  Dunstan  came  to 
the  great  meeting  of  the  witenagemot  with  his 
scheme  of  empire.  In  this  assembly  of  the  wise, 
Saxon  and  Dane  were  alike  represented,  the 
southern  earls  and  ealdormen  sate  quietly  with 
the  grim  jarls  of  the  north,  while  the  princes  of 
Wales  sate  side  by  side  with  English  thanes  and 
bishops.  It  was  a  working  parliament  that  lost 
no  time  in  doing  its  business,  and  abhorred  long 
speeches.  Each  man  sate  with  his  sword  at  his 
side  and  his  spear  in  his  hand;  and  for  cheers 
they  did  not  indulge  in  the  incoherent  mumblings 
of  our  modern  assemblies,  but  by  dashing  their 
lances  together  each  with  his  neighbor,  standing 
54 


TWO     GREAT     VICTORIES 

in  the  rude  hall  or  under  the  arch  of  heaven,  they 
showed  their  approval  of  the  counsels. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  witan,  Dunstan  noted, 
pointed  clearly  to  the  election  of  Eadwine.  Long 
wearied  of  the  overbearing  and  haughty  spirit  of 
the  chancellor,  the  English  nobles  hailed  with  joy 
the  advent  of  a  prince  with  independent  spirit 
and  fervent  English  sympathies.  Fearful  of 
Dunstan's  power,  the  grim  northern  jarls  eagerly 
clutched  at  any  escape,  till  it  served  their  pur- 
pose to  bow  to  him  again.  Glad  of  Eadwine's  love 
of  the  English  Church  and  his  care  for  its  inde- 
pendence, the  "  secular "  clergy  greeted  with 
ardor  the  mention  of  his  name. 

Athelstane,  the  hoary  -  headed  ealdorman, 
knew  the  youth  could  throw  a  spear  and  wield 
the  sword. 

Alfric,  another  duke,  was  confident  of  victory 
under  his  brave  and  fearless  lead. 

Alfhere  was  proud  of  the  manly  spirit  of  his 
kinsman,  and  prophesied  his  rare  and  great  abil- 
ity would  add  luster  to  the  English  name. 

Ethelrige,  with  a  look  at  Dunstan,  predicted 
peace  at  court  and  joy  throughout  the  land. 

Byrhthelm,  Bishop  of  London,  with  eyes  also 
55 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

turned  toward  Dunstan,  praised  God  the  new 
king  would  not  wish  to  deprive  men  of  the  rights 
of  manhood  or  force  on  the  English  Church  the 
shackles  of  Rome. 

Gunnar,  a  grim  northern  jarl,  proclaimed  the 
admiration  of  the  Danes  for  a  son  of  the  doughty 
Eadmund  and  the  grandson  of  Athelstane. 

Dunstan  was  biding  his  time.  It  had  now 
come.  Rising  and  lifting  his  hand  toward  Ead- 
wine,  he  cried: 

"  Hail,  Eadwine !  .Caesar  of  Britain !  King 
of  the  Anglo-Saxons!  Hail!  Long  live  the 
king!" 

The  clash  of  arms  was  deafening.  Each  man 
rose  and  dashed  his  lance  at  his  neighbor's,  shout- 
ing lustily: 

"  Long  live  the  king !     Long  live  the  king !  " 

Ealdorman  and  jarl,  thane  and  princeling, 
stood  and  made  the  rude  hall  ring  with  the  clang 
of  spears  and  the  cry  of  "  Long  live  the  king !  " 
Through  the  open  door  the  words  ran  into  the 
midst  of  the  great  throng  without,  a  seething, 
excited  mass  of  warriors  and  courtiers,  and  as 
the  news  fell  upon  their  ears  they  shouted  back 
again  and  again: 

56 


TWO     GREAT     VICTORIES 

"  Long  live  the  king !     Long  live  the  king !  " 

Dunstan  stood  smiling  at  the  wild  enthusiasm 
of  the  throng,  appearing  to  join  in  it  all.  He 
was  well  pleased  at  the  success  of  his  artifice,  and 
waited  confidently  till  the  cry  subsided.  Then 
the  pale  face  lit  with  gladness  as  the  time  had 
come  for  the  expression  of  his  subtle  plan.  He 
raised  his  head  and  motioned  that  he  would  fur- 
ther speak.  A  hush  fell  upon  the  assembly,  well 
pleased  with  his  former  words  and  won  by  his 
wiles.  Assuming  his  most  genial  manner,  and 
speaking  with  great  ease  and  fluency,  with  rich, 
pleasing  voice,  he  began: 

"  Noble  is  the  king,  and  fair  of  soul  as  fair 
of  face,  comely  as  the  kingly  Athelstane,  and  good 
as  the  great  Alfred.  Long  live  the  king !  " 

The  lances  were  dashed  together  with  great 
enthusiasm  by  the  excited  assembly. 

"  Brave  men  are  all  his  followers  and  worthy 
of  such  a  king,  brave  as  he  is  fair  and  noble.  In 
field  of  battle  you,  each  with  each,  vie  in  skill  of 
arms,  loving  the  place  of  danger,  and  smiling  at 
the  thought  of  cairns  and  barrows.  Long  may 
the  king  lead  you  on  to  victory ! " 

Again  the  lances  were  dashed  together  wildly. 
5  57 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  But  we  live  in  troublous  times,  and,  as  wise 
men  as  well  as  brave,  must  seek  the  safety  of 
the  realm  and  plan  to  win  the  victory.  To  bind 
the  states  together,  the  brave  men  of  the  north 
with  the  noble  of  the  south,  and  make  your  arms 
invincible,  you  will  safeguard  the  noble  king  on 
every  hand." 

The  shout  that  rose  above  the  clash  of  arms 
told  Dunstan  victory  awaited  him,  and  added 
power  to  his  eloquence  and  charm  to  his  bearing. 

"  The  gallant  men  of  Mercia  and  Northum- 
bria,  far  removed  from  the  court  of  the  king,  espe- 
cially will  desire  to  link  themselves  to  his  person 
in  some  way  pleasing  to  the  royal  house  and  con- 
tributing to  the  dignity  of  the  throne." 

The  excited  cheers  with  which  this  cautious 
move  was  met,  especially  by  the  Mercians  and 
Northumbrians,  showed  Dunstan  that  no  suspi- 
cion was  aroused. 

"  If  the  wise  men  of  this  great  and  illustrious 
council,  considering  the  safety  of  the  realm  and 
the  youth  of  the  noble  king,  would  appoint  him 
a  viceroy  in  those  northern  states,  the  sovereign 
would  be  benefited  and  the  interests  of  the  nation 
at  large  assured." 

58 


TWO     GREAT     VICTORIES 

The  lusty  cheers  with  which  this  suggestion 
was  received  assured  the  abbot  the  battle  was  won. 
The  kinsmen  of  the  king  were  the  first  to  clash 
their  lances. 

"  The  fair  and  noble  king  hath  a  brother, 
whose  glory  is  the  joy  of  all  the  land,  and  whose 
heart  is  knit  to  the  throne  by  the  nearest  and 
best  of  ties.  Would  not  he  strengthen  the  king 
and  serve  the  country  by  acting  as  viceroy  of 
the  north?  Yea?  Then  hail,  Eadgar,  subregu- 
lus  of  Mercia  and  Northumbria!  Hail!  Long 
live  the  king !  " 

Vociferous  cheering  again  rang  through  the 
hall  and  clang  of  spear,  as  the  wild  throng  ap- 
proved the  chancellor's  cunning  speech.  Excited, 
four  strong  warriors  seized  Eadwine,  laid  him 
upon  a  shield,  raised  it  upon  their  shoulders,  and 
carried  him  round  the  hall  and  out  into  the  midst 
of  the  seething  crowd.  The  multitude  greeted 
him  with  acclamation  and  loud  shouts  of: 

"  Long  live  the  king !     Long  live  the  king !  " 

Eadgar,  too,  they  raised  upon  a  shield  and 
carried  among  the  people,  his  flaxen  locks  threaded 
with  shining  gold  and  his  rich  silken  dress  float- 
ing in  the  breeze.  And  all  the  air  was  filled  with 
59 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

cries  of  "  Long  live  Eadgar !  Long  live  the 
king!" 

Dunstan,  from  the  hall,  watched  the  scene 
without,  exulting  at  the  triumph  of  his  cunning. 
The  veins  stood  up  on  his  massive  brow,  and  the 
glow  of  victory  illumined  his  pale  face.  Bound- 
ing joy  leaped  in  his  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Ha !  ha !  They  could  not  master  Dunstan ! 
The  victory  is  mine,  mine,  mine,  and  Eadwine's 
in  my  power.  Wait,  Dunstan,  wait:  thou  canst 
afford  to  bide  thy  time.  The  victory  is  thine ! 
The  vain  young  prince,  '  whose  glory  is  the  joy 
of  all  the  land,'  ha!  ha!  will  prove  a  tool  ready 
to  hand — when  the  time  comes.  Pomp  and  power 
he  loveth,  and  a  taste  of  these  in  Mercia  will  make 
him  eager  for  greater  show  and  splendor  by  and 
by.  Wait,  Dunstan,  wait:  thou  canst  afford  to 
bide  thy  time.  The  victory  is  thine,  thine,  thine !  " 

Thus  exulting,  the  crafty  chancellor  strode 
away. 


60 


CHAPTER    IX 

CORONATION    GLORIES 

THE  dawn  of  the  new  year  witnessed  the  cele- 
bration of  Eadwine's  nuptials  with  the  beautiful 
Elgiva.  The  nobles  of  the  land  hailed  the  union 
with  joy,  well  knowing  the  queenly  character  of 
the  court's  loveliest  maid.  Many  of  the  leading 
prelates  pronounced  a  holy  benediction,  looking 
with  gladness  on  the  spotless  purity  of  her  white 
soul.  But  in  some  quarters,  influenced  especially 
by  Dunstan,  an  aloofness  did  not  escape  the  eyes 
of  the  king. 

Fresh  from  his  wedding  he  came  to  his  coro- 
nation surrounded  by  the  princes  and  nobles  of 
the  land,  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  people,  to  the 
royal  chapel  at  Kingston.1  Here  the  assembled 

1  "  Cynges  tun,"  or  "  King's  town,"  so  called  from  its  being 
a  royal  manor,  or  from  its  peculiar  connection  with  royalty. 
The  coronations  of  several  of  the  Saxon  kings  took  place  here. 
After  the  ceremony  they  took  possession  of  the  kingdom  by 
standing  upon  a  great  stone  or  fragment  of  rock,  which  was 
long  preserved  in  the  churchyard.  In  the  year  1735  the 
scene  of  the  inaugurations — an  ancient  chapel,  ornamented  with 

61 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

ecclesiastics  received  him  with  many  awe-inspiring 
solemnities. 

It  was  a  holy  service  performed  by  the  Church 
with  ceremonial  splendor.  Clad  in  vestments  of 
rustling  silk,  they  led  the  king,  with  slow,  digni- 
fied steps,  to  the  holy  altar.  There,  in  the  hush 
of  the  solemn  throng  and  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
Son  of  Mary,  he  made  his  coronation  vow  to  gov- 
ern with  equity  and  right.  There,  prostrate  at 
the  feet  of  the  primate,  his  head  was  anointed 
with  holy  oil  and  he  was  consecrated  to  the  serv- 
ice of  the  people.  There,  too,  the  crown  of  gold 
was  placed  upon  his  brow,  while  the  prayers  of 
the  multitude  went  up  to  heaven  on  the  incense 
with  which  the  church  was  laden,  as  he  was  "  hal- 
lowed to  king." 

Rising  at  length,  the  new  monarch  bowed  be- 
fore the  image  of  the  Crucified  King,  crossed 
himself,  turned,  and  passed  from  the  church  to 
the  guest-chamber,  where,  for  the  first  time,  he 
sate  amid  witan  and  people  in  regal  glory,  clad 
in  purple  robes  and  girt  with  crown  of  gold,  a 
solemnly  consecrated  king. 

statues  of  the  kings  crowned — perished  from  decay. — Milner, 
History  of  England,  p.  95. 

62 


CORONATION     GLORIES 

The  Saxon  mind  turned  easily  from  the  sol- 
emn service  of  the  church  to  the  gay  mirth  of  the 
banquet-hall.  Which  he  loved  better,  smell  of 
incense  or  smell  of  venison,  our  father  great  and 
good,  is  not  for  romancer  to  tell.  But  this  he 
must  say,  that  into  the  feast-chamber  trooped 
earl,  and  thane,  and  cleric,  with  festive  mirth  and 
splendor,  loving  the  venison  no  less  than  the 
incense. 

The  gaiety  and  grandeur  of  the  scene  capti- 
vate and  dazzle  the  eye.1  In  the  midst  the  stately 
king,  towering  in  his  strength,  resplendent  with 
purple  and  cynehelm  of  gold.  Around  him  the 
princes,  dukes,  and  ealdormen  in  garments  gay 
with  embroidery  of  gold  and  lined  with  costly 
furs.  The  luxury  of  their  dress  and  personal 
ornaments  is  witnessed  by  every  document  of  the 
time.  The  thane  himself  boasted  of  his  gems,  his 
golden  bracelets,  and  rings,  and  the  splendor  of 
his  attire.  By  the  side  of  each  hung  a  sword  in 
a  scabbard  of  gold  that  flashed  in  the  hall  ablaze 
with  light  and  luster.  Their  long  fair  locks, 

1  The  coronation  feast  took  place  on  the  first  or  second 
Sunday  after  the  Epiphany,  956  A.  D. — Stubbs,  Memorials  of 
Dunstan,  intro.,  Ixxxviii. 

63 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

floating  on  their  shoulders  or  wound  round  their 
heads,  were  plaited  with  gold  and  decked  with 
jewels.  And  the  silken  vestments  of  the  bishops 
outrivaled  even  the  glory  of  the  nobles. 

If  the  gaiety  and  grandeur  of  the  company 
captivate  the  eye,  no  less  will  the  splendor  of  the 
hall  dazzle  it.  Its  rough  walls  were  covered  with 
silken  hangings,  wrought  with  figures  and  pic- 
tures from  the  life  of  Christ  and  the  annals  of 
the  nation.  Opposite  a  rough  painting  of  the 
crucifixion  was  an  embroidery  of  Brunanburh, 
wrought  by  the  ladies  of  Athelstane's  court,  while 
facing  a  representation  of  the  Last  Supper  was  a 
mythical  sketch  of  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of 
the  Round  Table.  Three  great  candelabra  of 
wrought  iron  hung  from  massive  beams  of  oak, 
and  between  them,  two  on  either  side,  four 
quaintly  shaped  horn  lanterns  with  painted  glass, 
in  which  were  burning  brightly  countless  can- 
dles. The  tables  at  which  the  king  and  ealdor- 
men  sate  were  of  gold  and  silver.  Round  them 
were  flashing  silver  mirrors  and  golden  candle- 
sticks, while  cups  and  basins  and  chalices  of  the 
same  precious  metals  were  ranged  on  the  tables 
before  them.  The  floor  was  of  tessellated  mar- 
64 


CORONATION     GLORIES 

ble    curiously    wrought    into    a    rich    and    quaint 
mosaic. 

Most  characteristic  and  beautiful  of  all,  the 
doors  of  the  banquet-room  were  open  wide,  and 
while  the  fire  blazed  and  the  hall  was  warm  and 
the  king  sate  at  the  feast  amid  his  nobles,  soft 
flakes  of  snow  were  falling  in  the  moonlight,  the 
minstrels  round  the  doors  were  making  melody, 
and  the  redbreasts  in  the  rafters  singing  with 
merry  hearts,  safe  from  the  winter  storm. 

The  viands  were  of  the  richest  and  most 
savory  kind.  Honey  such  as  the  soul  of  a  Saxon 
loveth  and  eulogizes  as  "  excelling  all  dishes  of 
delicacies  and  peppered  broths."  Oysters  "  on 
the  coasts  of  Richborough,  in  Britain,"  bred,  once 
the  joy  of  the  epicures  of  Rome,  as  Juvenal  tells. 
Salmon  and  eels  from  the  well-stocked  Thames. 
Land-  and  water-fowl  of  various  species.  Vert  and 
venison,  royalest  of  dishes,  from  the  king's  own 
preserves ;  and  roebuck,  and  rabbit,  and  hare.  And 
with  all,  goblets  of  sparkling  wine  and  tankards 
of  foaming  beer,  served  by  youthful  nobles, 
sprightly  and  gay,  who  vied  with  each  other  for 
the  honors  of  the  feast. 

When    the    banquet    ended    the    hoary-headed 
65 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Athelstane,  as  first  of  the  duces  at  court,  rose, 
amid  boisterous  excitement,  to  propose  the  corona- 
tion toast.  The  vast  assembly  rose  with  him, 
drew  their  flashing  swords  from  scabbards  of  gold, 
lifted  them  high  above  their  heads,  and  waited  for 
the  stirring  words. 

"  Fealty  do  we  swear  to  the  king.  Long  may 
he  lead  us  to  victory.  Long  may  the  candle  of 
God  shine  upon  his  throne.  Brightly  burn  the 
fire  within  his  hall.  Sweetly  bloom  the  flowers  be- 
neath his  feet.  Drink,  merry  men,  all.  Long 
live  the  king !  " 

Then  flashed  the  uplifted  swords,  and  clanged, 
each  man's  against  his  neighbor's,  as  loudly  they 
swore  fealty  to  the  king.  Into  their  scabbards 
they  plunged  them  anon,  and  quickly  turned  to 
the  wine.  Raising  the  goblets  firmly  in  both 
hands,  they  held  them  a  moment  aloft,  shouted 
with  one  voice,  "  Long  live  the  king !  "  and  drank 
deeply  of  the  sparkling  cup.  "  Long  live  the 
king !  "  they  panted,  as  they  drained  the  goblets 
and  sat  down  amid  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 

Then  rose  the  king  in  his  pride  and  greatness, 
and,  lifting  his  jeweled  sword  above  his  head,  cried 
with  his  manly  voice,  rich  and  deep: 
66 


CORONATION     GLORIES 

"  And  I  swear  fealty  to  my  people,  and  drink 
to  the  honor  of  them  all.  Long  may  the  land 
flourish  and  our  arms  win  renown ! " 

Thus  crying,  he  proudly  clanged  his  sword 
against  the  hoary-headed  Athelstane's,  then 
sheathed  it  quickly  in  its  scabbard  of  gems, 
and  lifting  a  golden  goblet,  drank  of  the  red 
wine,  amid  a  scene  of  indescribable  enthusiasm. 

After  this  the  hall  was  given  up  to  unbridled 
mirth  and  revelry.  The  wine  flowed  freely  and 
the  merriment  increased  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
The  minstrels  and  gleemen  were  soon  introduced 
to  carry  the  boisterous  fun  to  its  wildest  heights. 

For  long  the  king  went  among  the  crowd  with 
winning  graces.  The  Benedictines,  in  their  long 
black  gowns  and  cowls,1  were  not  slow  to  note 
that  he  even  deigned  to  smile  upon  the  "  secular  " 
clergy.  The  nobles  did  not  count  that  ill,  know- 
ing well  their  safety  lay  endangered  in  the  celibacy 
of  monks  rather  than  the  marrying  of  priests. 

1  The  Benedictine's  dress  consisted  of  a  long  black  tunic  or 
close  gown,  a  white  close  waistcoat  of  wool  underneath,  and  a 
shirt  of  hair,  while  a  cowl  either  covered  the  head  or  hung 
back  on  the  shoulders.  The  hair  was  shaven  off  the  greater 
part  of  the  crown.  The  feet  and  legs  were  encased  in  high 
boots. 

67 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

But  Dunstan  marked  it  well,  and  laid  it  up  in  his 
heart,  biding  his  time. 

For  long  the  king  joined  in  the  mirth.  But 
when  the  hour  grew  late  and  revelry  reached  its 
wildest  pitch,  tired  of  the  gaiety  and  weary  with 
the  trying  day,  he  passed  from  the  scene,  and 
sought  the  quiet  and  love  of  the  queen's  chamber. 


68 


CHAPTER    X 

HOW   A    SAINT    BLEW    OUT    GOD's    CANDLE 

THE  retiral  of  the  king  was  the  signal  for 
the  execution  of  a  subtle  scheme.  His  absence 
might  have  been  looked  on  by  the  lay  guests  as  a 
gentle  slight;  but  the  clerics,  loudly  proclaiming 
purity  and  honor,  might  have  been  expected  to 
regard  it  with  approbation,  and,  remembering 
their  own  repeated  prohibitions,  to  have  withdrawn 
with  advantage  to  themselves  from  the  degrading 
exhibitions  only  too  common  at  Saxon  feasts. 

Not  so.  The  Benedictines,  inflamed  with  hate, 
were  ready  to  seize  any  excuse  for  a  quarrel,  and 
Dunstan's  genius  readily  supplied  the  moving 
thought.  It  was  with  delight  unfeigned  he 
watched  the  king  slip  from  the  scene  and  make 
for  the  chamber  of  Elgiva.  His  pale  face  glowed 
with  glee  as  there  flashed  through  his  brain  the 
scheme  of  Eadwine's  ruin. 

Carried  away  by  one  of  those  ecstatic  bursts 
of  passion  that  eclipse  the  soul  of  man  and  make 
69 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

him  for  a  time  either  maniac  or  devil,  Dunstan 
looked  on  the  love  of  these  twin  souls  and  deter- 
mined that  out  of  this  should  come  their  ruin. 
Carried  by  the  brilliancy  and  subtlety  of  his 
scheme,  he  leaped  with  the  light  that  danced 
in  his  eyes,  and  laughed  at  the  pain  of  the 
strife. 

His  keen  sight  foresaw  the  line  events  would 
take,  foresaw  it  as  if  already  he  were  in  the  thick 
of  the  battle  and  felt  the  heated  breath  of  the 
combatants.  Transported  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end,  driven  through  it  all  by  swiftly  mov- 
ing brain-power,  every  move  distinctly  visible  in 
the  lurid  light  of  fancy,  the  crafty  chancellor 
chuckled  with  triumph  and  smiled  with  exulta- 
tion. 

Turning  among  the  throng,  he  encountered 
Oslac  in  the  midst  of  the  merriment,  and  called 
him  without  the  blazing  hall. 

The  candle  of  God  was  high  in  the  heaven, 
brightly  set  in  the  vault  of  night,  blue,  deep  blue, 
save  for  some  black  clouds  that  moved  ominously 
in  the  sky.  The  fields  and  trees  were  covered  with 
nature's  whitest,  softest  robe,  resplendent  with  the 
pale  moonlight.  But  the  chancellor  felt  not  its 
70 


GOD'S     CANDLE 

cooling  beams,  and  thought  little  of  the  purity  of 
nature's  whitest,  softest  robe. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  Oslac,  holy  monk  of  Glaston- 
bury ! " 

"  What  now,  Dunstan?  " 

"  Thy  time  hath  come,  the  time  for  which  thou 
hast  prayed  so  long." 

"  What  meanest  thou?  " 

"  The  bark  of  opportunity  sails  along  the 
stream  of  thy  desire  and  waits  for  thee  to-night. 
Embark,  set  sail,  and  it  will  bring  thee  to  Elgiva's 
arms.  The  hour  of  thy  revenge  hath  come  and 
Fate  hath  laid  thy  foe  prostrate  at  thy  feet. 
Strike,  and  he  will  rise  no  more." 

"But  where?     I  see  not." 

"  Hast  thou,  then,  been  so  merry  with  the 
wine  that  thou  hast  not  seen  the  insult  he  hath 
given  us  all?  He  hath  back  to  the  harlot!  Nay! 
Do  not  start!  It  is  not  lawful  for  him  to  take 
his  cousin  to  wife.  The  decree  hath  long  gone 
forth  that  makes  such  marriage  void." 

"'Harlot!'      Elgiva    the    beautiful    branded 

so?     Nay,  thou'rt  jesting,  Dunstan!     And  what 

of    Holy    Church?      Will    its    ears    listen    to    its 

own    voice   and   its   hands    obey    its    own    behest? 

71 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Has  the  decree  gone  forth  to  make  them  do 
that?" 

"  Fire  thy  hatred,  Oslac,  and  fan  thine  ambi- 
tion, and  all  wilt  be  as  thou  dost  desire.  Thine 
is  the  voice  that  must  speak.  There  are  the  ears 
of  the  bishops  ready  to  listen,  waiting  only  some 
pretext  for  strife.  Now  is  the  hour  of  thy 
revenge.  The  bark  waits:  soon  the  sails  will  set. 
Wilt  thou  embark?" 

"  Yea,  Dunstan,  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Come  quickly,  then,  and  hiss  it  in  the  ears 
of  Odo  and  the  priests  of  Canterbury." 

"  Come,  then,  and  thou  wilt  hear  the  *  holy 
monk  of  Glastonbury '  hiss  it  forth  with  power." 

And  so  speaking,  Oslac  led  the  way  into  the 
blazing  banquet-hall. 

"  Let  me  join  them  first,"  whispered  Dunstan, 
"  and  prepare  thy  way.  Remember,  Holy  Church 
will  fight  thy  battle,  and  bring  thee  to  thy  goal, 
if  only  thy  voice  is  loud  to-night  against  the  sin 
of  Eadwine." 

And  so  speaking,  Dunstan  turned  to  join  the 
priests  of  Canterbury. 

Here  was  Odo,  primate  of  England,  an  old 
and  cunning  intriguer.  Mark  his  withered, 
72 


GOD'S     CANDLE 

shrunken  face,  plowed  deeply  with  the  sins  that 
made  him  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  Mark, 
too,  his  restless  eyes  that  gleam  with  baffled  hate 
and  search  for  vain  excuse.  A  Dane,  his  heart 
is  with  his  kindred  in  the  land,  as  he  proved  in 
Eadwine's  father's  time  by  aiding  the  return  of 
Anlaf,  after  his  great  defeat  at  Brunanburh,  and 
by  pressing  on  the  English  king's  acceptance  a 
treaty  that  parted  the  kingdom  with  the  Dane. 
For  Church  and  kindred  he  will  attempt  great 
things. 

Of  the  rest  note  two.  Kynesige,  Bishop  of 
Lichfield,  the  first  bishopric  in  the  province  of 
Canterbury,  a  fleshy  man,  whose  forte  was  not  in 
fasting  but  in  flattering  the  noble  Odo;  and  Sig- 
wulf,  a  youthful  kinsman  of  the  primate,  and 
well  named.  Ready  at  all  times  to  do  the  pre- 
late's bidding,  he  will  yet  perform  a  deed  that 
will  make  us  stand  aghast.  A  wild  barbarian 
lurks  beneath  his  Benedictine  gown. 

"  'Tis  a  grievous  insult,  Odo,"  said  Dunstan, 
as  he  joined  them.  "An  insult  offered  to  us  all, 
and  chiefly  to  Holy  Church." 

"  Ay,  Dunstan ;  and  Kynesige  here  can  not 
bring  forth  one  avenging  thought.  Methinks  he 
6  73 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

must  have  fasted  all  night  long  and  now  feels 
faint.  What  thinkest  thou?  " 

"  That  Holy  Church  must  act  at  once ! " 

"But  how?" 

At  this  moment  Oslac  came,  and  loudly  hissed 
in  Odo's  ears: 

"  He  hath  back  to  the  harlot !  He  loves  her 
chamber  better  than  banquet-hall  graced  by  Holy 
Church.  Have  you  forgotten?  It  is  not  lawful 
for  him  to  take  his  cousin  to  wife.  Why  doth  not 
Holy  Church  pronounce  decree,  and  rend  him 
from  her?  " 

The  prelates  started  and  clapped  their  hands. 
The  union  of  cousins  the  canons  of  the  Roman 
Church  prohibit,  without  the  express  dispensation 
of  the  Pope — a  restriction  which  tended  to  aug- 
ment authority,  and  which  was  freely  used  as  a 
weapon  of  malice  and  extortion. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  little  would 
have  been  said  of  such  a  marriage,  and  the  fact 
that  it  was  approved  by  other  church  digni- 
taries is  witnessed  by  a  document  of  the  time. 
Till  now  it  had  never  been  thought  of  as  a 
pretext  for  strife.  But  a  slight  transgression 
of  ecclesiastical  law  becomes  a  heinous  sin  in 
74 


GOD'S     CANDLE 

the  eyes  of  a  priest  who  hates  the  witless  of- 
fender.1 

This,  therefore,  appeared  to  the  prelates 
ample  cause  for  urgent  action  against  the  offend- 
ing king,  and  his  retiral  a  specious  opportunity 
for  opening  strife.  They  scarce  needed  the  glow- 
ing approbation  of  Dunstan  and  his  revelation 
of  papal  aggrandizement.  The  vision  floated 
before  their  eyes  and  added  the  sense  of  right  to 
the  feeling  of  hate:  now  could  they  act  with 
might,  for  was  not  "  law,"  "  right,"  upon  their 
side?  Even  the  fleshy  Kynesige  panted  to  begin. 

"  Let  us  away  to  the  chamber,  and  drag  him 
from  her  arms,  noble  Odo.  Let  us  teach  the 
sinner  Holy  Church  must  be  honored.  Send  me, 
most  noble  Odo,  and  though  they  sleep  on  bridal 
couch  I  shall  tear  him  from  her  and  drag  him  to 
the  banquet-hall." 

1  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  we  do  not  know  the  exact  degree 
of  relationship  between  the  royal  victims.  It  may  have  been 
too  close  in  the  eyes  of  the  stricter  clergy ;  yet  we  can  not 
close  our  eyes  to  the  fact  that  it  was  long  acquiesced  in  by  the 
English  nobles  ;  nor,  had  Eadwig  shown  himself  more  pliant  to 
the  pretensions  of  Dunstan,  might  we  ever  have  heard  of  it  at 
all.  History,  deprived  of  all  its  materials,  will  here  fail  to  do 
even  late  justice  to  the  sufferers  ;  but  it  will  not  fail  to  stamp 
with  its  enduring  brand  the  brutal  conduct  of  their  persecutors. 
— Kemble,  Saxons  in  England,  ii,  409. 

75 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Yea,  now  is  the  time  to  strike,"  urged 
Dunstan.  And  the  Benedictines  shouted  loud 
approval. 

The  wrinkled  face  of  the  old  primate  puck- 
ered with  glee  and  needed  little  exhortation. 

"  Go,  then,  at  once.  Bring  him  back  to  the 
feast.  Overawe  him  with  the  judgment  of  Holy 
Church.  Force  him  to  come.  Impose  on  him  our 
will  and  make  him  obedient  to  our  commands. 
Haste ! " 

Oslac  watched  them  go  with  riotous  delight. 
His  eye  caught  Dunstan's  as  he  marched  away, 
and  he  saw  in  it  the  same  look  of  triumph  that 
leaped  in  exultation  after  his  great  victory  in 
the  witenagemot.  It  pierced  to  Oslac's  heart  and 
roused  like  exultation. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  The  monk  of  Glastonbury  shall 
have  his  day !  Eadwine's  doom  is  signed  and 
sealed  to-night!  God  pity  the  man  who  stands 
in  the  way  of  a  priest!  Pray  on,  Oslac!  It  pays 
thee  to  say  thy  prayers!  Cross  thyself  well,  and 
one  day  thou  mayest  yet  be  king,  with  Elgiva  for 
thine  own ! " 

So  saying,  the  holy  monk  stepped  out  into  the 
night.  The  candle  of  God  was  out.  Great  banks 
76 


GOD'S     CANDLE 

of  black  clouds  swept  across  the  sky.  Dense 
darkness  was  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  broken 
only  by  lightning  flashes  that  leaped  from  the 
frowning  banks  and  made  ghostly  the  mantle  of 
snow.  Oslac  looked  up  into  the  sky.  A  big  cloud 
right  above  him  cracked  and  thundered,  and  the 
lightning  blazed  forth  and  blinded  him.  Super- 
stitious as  his  times,  he  quaked  with  dread  and 
hurried  back  into  the  blazing  banquet-hall.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  Lord  God  had  clothed  the  heav- 
ens with  sackcloth  and  sent  avenging  swords  of 
light. 


CHAPTER    XI 

DISPELLING    A    DREAM 

THE  king  found  the  love  and  quiet  of  the 
chamber  soothing  after  the  noise  and  tumult  of 
the  day.  The  coronation,  long  anticipated  by 
himself  and  Elgiva,  had  come  and  gone.  Now 
it  behoved  them  to  put  into  shape  the  dreams  that 
had  long  thronged  their  youthful  minds,  and  to 
realize  the  brightly-tinted  thoughts  they  royally 
had  fostered. 

The  noble  nature  of  their  minds  had  crowded 
all  their  dreams  with  visions  of  love  and  mercy, 
while  their  pure  hearts  had  clothed  their  aspira- 
tions with  the  white  robes  of  innocence  and 
good-will.  The  visions  floated  before  their  eyes 
to-night,  and  lingered  sweetly  while  the  angels 
struck  their  harps  and  wafted  themselves  away 
on  the  tuneful  waves  of  their  own  angelic  melo- 
dies. 

Together  with  their  dreams  they  lingered, 
smiling  happily  and  stroking  each  other  with  lov- 
78 


DISPELLING     A     DREAM 

ing  hands.  The  love-light  danced  in  their  blue 
eyes,  transfiguring  each  with  a  glory  seen  only 
by  the  soul  of  the  other.  Beautiful  before,  in 
this  glory  they  were  heavenly,  each  in  the  eyes 
of  each.  The  cynehelm  of  gold  lay  at  their  feet, 
and  words  more  precious  to  them  than  crowns  rose 
from  their  loving  hearts. 

"  Thou  shalt  be  with  me  all  the  days,  Elgiva, 
my  beautiful.  Thou  art  my  spouse,  and  with 
me  shalt  share  the  glory.  The  light  that  falls 
upon  the  throne  will  kiss  thy  face,  as  I  do  now, 
and  make  thee  a  queen  so  fair  that  men  shall  envy 
the  homage  paid  thy  name." 

"  Loving  well,  thou  shalt  reign  well,  Edwy, 
my  fair.  With  love  we  came  to  know  each  other, 
and  to  be  thinking  ever  for  each  other's  good. 
So  must  it  be  in  the  great  world,  methinks.  The 
heart  leads  the  way,  and  love  illumines  the  path 
of  duty.  I  know  this,  Edwy,  for  love  hath 
taught  me,  my  own  fair  king." 

"  Thou  art  beautiful  in  thy  love  as  in  thy 
life,  and  hast  said  a  beautiful  thing  and  true, 
Elgiva.  With  love  we  shall  reign,  and  win  the 
hearts  of  the  people  and  serve  the  Christ." 

"  Then  no  strife  shall  happen  in  our  time, 
79 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Edwy,  and  peace  shall  rest  upon  the  land,  like  a 
heavenly  benediction  or  an  angel's  psalm." 

"  More.  Justice  and  truth  shall  stand  around 
the  throne.  These  are  the  rocks  on  which  great 
realms  are  built,  noble  foundations  that  never  fail. 
We  have  dreamed  of  them  so  oft,  Elgiva,  we 
should  know  them  well,  and  lay  them  deep  under 
the  beautiful  kingdom  we  hope  to  build." 

"  Thou  art  great,  and  wise,  and  noble,  my 
king;  and  when  the  people  come  to  know  thee 
as  I  do — I  and  my  heart — then  will  they  love  and 
honor  thee  like  thine  own  fond  wife  and  queen." 

"  My  beautiful,  thou  art  more  to  me  than 
praise  of  man.  Let  truth  be  my  guide  through 
life  and  integrity  my  consolation!  Then,  come 
what  may,  with  thy  love  life  will  be  laden  with 
summer  flowers  and  the  days  be  full  of  glory. 
But  without  thee  the  sun  would  sink  in  sorrow, 
and  night  with  wintry  storms  come  on." 

"  Loving  thy  people,  Edwy,  as  thy  queen, 
life  will  be  full  of  happiness  and  peace.  No 
evil  will  come  nigh  us,  no  sorrow  weep  in  our 
hearts,  and  no  blood  stain  the  white  flowers  of  our 
soul." 

"  Ah,  my  children,"  broke  in  the  gray  queen- 
80 


DISPELLING     A     DREAM 

mother,  looking  up  from  her  embroidery  of  gold, 
and  smoothing  with  white  fingers  the  lines  of  sor- 
row on  her  brow,  "  Ah,  my  children,  your  dreams 
are  too  bright  for  a  treacherous  world.  Oh,  that 
they  might  be  realized!  But  my  heart  beats 
wildly." 

"  Oh,  mother,  do  not  be  foretelling  evil  and 
break  the  frail  cup  of  our  dreams.  To  think  we 
shall  attain  them  brings  us  near  their  consumma- 
tion, and  gives  us  hope  and  pleasure  as  we  dream. 
May  not  God  send  dreams  to  make  us  soar  above 
the  painful  lot,  and  paint  our  lives  with  pleasing 
colors  that  we  should  enjoy  while  they  last?" 

"'While  they  last.'  Thou  hast  well  said, 
my  child.  But  how  long?  The  rainbow  lifts  its 
glory  in  the  sky  and  shows  its  wonders  for  a 
little  time,  then  vanishes  away.  The  dewdrop 
nestles  in  the  lily's  breast,  catches  the  crimson  of 
the  dawn,  and  laughs  for  a  while  with  the  golden 
sun,  but  is  gone  ere  noon.  So  is  it  with  the 
dreams  of  man." 

"  Surely,    mother,    life    is    not    so    sad.      The 

sun,  rising  in  splendor,  sinks  as  oft  in  equal  glory 

of    crimson    and    gold,    having    laughed    in    the 

heavens  all  day  long.     May  it  not  be  so  with  life? 

81 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Is  the  beauty  of  its  dawn,  with  all  its  bright 
hopes  and  visions,  to  be  put  to  shame  ere  evening 
comes?  Has  life  no  enduring  glory,  no  splendid 
sunsets,  for  those  who  hope  and  trust  in  God?  " 

"  Life  indeed  may  have  a  splendid  sunset,  yet 
is  the  journey  made  through  circles  of  sorrow. 
The  children  of  the  sun  look  down  on  a  world  of 
woe.  No  daughter  of  Eve  escapes  the  vale  of 
tears.  Many  among  the  sons  of  God  can  not 
always  pray." 

"  Thou  art  sad  to-night,  queen-mother,  and 
dost  sing  us  a  dirge  for  our  coronation  ode," 
broke  in  the  king.  "  We  looked  for  a  sweetened 
draft,  but  thou  hast  given  us  vinegar  mingled 
with  gall.  Must  a  wearied  woman  become  a  weep- 
ing prophet?  Hast  thou  no  other  song  to  sing?  " 

"  I  would  not  dishearten  thee,  fair  Eadwine, 
but  fortify  thy  heart  against  the  evil  day.  There 
are  dark  paths  for  life's  fairest  children,  and 
thorny  roads  for  the  tenderest  feet.  To  know 
beforehand  doth  but  garrison  the  heart,  and  fit 
it  better  to  withstand  the  foe." 

"  But  to  take  the  golden  cup,  mix  the  sweet 
draft,  and  drink,  ere  it  turns  to  gall,  is  surely 
good  and  pleasant?  " 

82 


DISPELLING     A     DREAM 

"  It  may  be.  But  the  gall  may  be  nearer 
than  we  dream." 

The  last  word  had  scarce  been  spoken  when 
sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  in  the  corridor  with- 
out. The  king  leaped  to  his  feet  and  advanced 
toward  the  door  of  the  royal  chamber,  while  the 
queen  started  up  and  turned  toward  the  queen- 
mother  with  eyes  that  told  the  fear  of  her  heart. 

The  impatient  intruders  beat  the  door  and 
flung  it  open  ere  the  king  reached  it. 

"  Ho !  Here  thou  art !  "  cried  Dunstan,  rush- 
ing into  the  private  chamber.  "  Fie,  sir !  Fie ! 
Leaving  the  company  of  bishops  and  nobles  for 
a  woman's  lap !  Who  would  have  thought  that 
one  so  young  would  have  learned  so  soon  the  way 
of  life?  Fie,  sir!  Fie!" 

"  Shame  upon  thee,  sir,"  cried  the  fleshy 
Kynesige,  with  much  bravado.  "  Thou  must 
learn  to  play  the  man  among  the  people.  The 
night  is  still  young  and  the  wine  red.  Shame, 
that  thou  prefer'st  a  woman's  kisses  to  the  peo- 
ple's mirth!" 

"  Fie,  sir !  Fie !  "  shouted  some  Benedictines 
behind,  thick  of  speech  and  not  oversteady  of 
limb. 

83 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  What  means  this  ?  "  cried  the  king,  drawing 
his  sword.  "  Back,  every  one  of  you,  on  peril 
of  your  life!  Such  rude  intrusion  on  our  privacy 
is  sore  displeasing.  Back !  " 

"  Nay !  We  have  come  to  bring  thee  back 
with  us,"  answered  Dunstan  haughtily.  "  The 
nobles  call  for  thee,  slighted  by  thine  absence. 
The  feast  fails  without  thy  royal  presence." 

"  My  nobles  know  better  how  to  treat  their 
king  than  wish  for  Dunstan's  insolence.  Go,  and 
tell  them  Eadwine  told  thee  so." 

"  Nay,  young  sir,  nay,"  cried  the  fleshy 
bishop,  moving  threateningly  toward  the  king. 
*'  The  noble  Odo,  primate  of  all  England,  and 
greater  even  than  its  king,  commands  us  to  com- 
pel thee  to  return.  So  come  thou  must,  young 
sir;  come  thou  must." 

The  beautiful  Elgiva  leaped  forward  at  these 
daring  words  and  flung  her  arms  around  the  king. 

"  Back,  sirs !  "  she  cried,  panting  with  anger. 
"  Back,  as  the  king  commands  you !  Away,  and 
let  not  your  madness  lead  you  to  folly." 

"  Peace,  queen !     They  will  not  dare  to  harm 
us.     Go,  sirs,  as  we  command  you,  or  on  the  mor- 
row ye  shall  rue  this  insolence." 
84 


DISPELLING     A     DREAM 

"  '  Queen  '  ?  Harlot  rather,  who  hath  en- 
trapped the  king !  "  answered  Dunstan.  "  Well 
must  she  know  it  is  not  lawful  to  be  thy  wife. 
The  Holy  Church  hath  long  decreed  it  so  and 
now  commands  thee  to  forswear  the  woman  and 
return  to  thy  people." 

"  Hush,  hound ! "  cried  the  king,  flashing  with 
anger  and  raising  his  sword  to  strike. 

And  Dunstan  fell  back  a  pace. 

"  Nay,  sir,  nay !  Holy  Church  hath  issued 
her  decree,  so  come  thou  must,"  roared  the  fleshy 
bishop,  as  he  flung  himself  with  all  his  weight 
upon  the  angry  king. 

"  Come  thou  must,"  echoed  the  Benedictines, 
as  they  closed  around  him. 

Exerting  his  great  strength,  the  king  threw 
the  bulky  Kynesige  from  him.  Dashing  forward, 
he  plunged  his  sword  into  one  of  the  advancing 
monks.  Withdrawing  his  blade,  dripping  with 
blood,  he  plunged  it  into  another,  and  yet  an- 
other. But  they  pressed  upon  him  eagerly  and 
sought  the  more  to  overpower  him. 

"  Seize  him !  "  shouted  the  bishop.  "  Seize  him, 
in  the  name  of  God  and  Odo ! " 

Thus  incited,  the  maddened  monks  fell  furi- 
85 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

ously  on  the  king.  Sweeping  his  sword,  he  kept 
them  at  reach  for  a  time,  his  eyes  flashing  like  a 
stag  at  bay. 

"  Seize  him !  "  shouted  Dunstan  and  Kynesige 
together. 

And  the  Benedictines  rushed  upon  him  from 
every  side  with  oaths  and  curses. 

Plunging  his  sword  into  the  foremost,  Ead- 
wine  loudly  shouted  defiance.  But  ere  he  could 
withdraw  his  weapon  again  they  had  seized  and 
overpowered  him. 

In  vain  he  struggled  and  tried  to  hurl  them 
from  him.  In  vain  he  shouted  and  threatened 
them  with  death.  In  vain  the  queen  screamed  and 
entreated  them  to  go. 

"  Hold  him !  Hold  him !  "  roared  the  angry 
bishop.  "  Drag  him  from  the  foul  queen's 
chamber ! " 

"  Away  with  him !  "  cried  Dunstan,  flinging 
wide  the  door.  "  Away  with  him !  He  must  be 
taught  to  do  the  bidding  of  Holy  Church,  or  to 
feel  the  power  of  her  anger ! " 


86 


CHAPTER    XII 

VISIONS    OF    SORROW 

WHEN  they  dragged  the  king  from  the  royal 
chamber  the  queen  uttered  a  heart-breaking  cry, 
and  fell  to  the  ground  as  one  stunned.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  dreams  of  a  life  had  been  rudely  chased 
away. 

The  anguish  of  her  heart  was  piteous  to  be- 
hold. Bitter  tears  flowed  from  fountains  filled 
with  sorrow.  Pain  was  written  deeply  over  all 
her  face.  Her  eyes,  streaming  with  the  bitter 
tears,  glared  around  wildly.  Her  hands  pressed 
hard  against  her  ears,  in  which  were  ringing 
and  echoing  the  foul  words  Dunstan  had  hurled 
at  her. 

Anon  she  rose,  trembling  and  deaf-like,  stead- 
ied herself  a  moment,  flitted  hither  and  hither  in 
a  paroxysm  of  grief,  ran  toward  the  door,  shriek- 
ing "  Edwy,  Edwy,  my  king,  my  king ! "  then 
fell  and  swooned  away. 

Her  dreams  that  night  were  strange,  and 
87 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

many:  wild  fancies  of  the  brain  entangled  in  the 
web  of  destiny. 

She  seemed  to  come  to  herself  on  a  wild  stretch 
of  sea  where  all  was  dark;  and  the  winds  of  hell 
were  howling  on  the  shore.  Anon  the  sun  rose 
and  the  sea  calmed.  Suddenly  countless  children 
appeared  upon  the  beach  and  sported  in  the  water. 
And  the  air  rang  with  their  cry  of  boisterous 
mirth. 

Their  voices  anon  blended  in  a  song  of 
plaintive  melody.  It  floated  over  the  waters  and 
was  carried  by  the  winds  away  over  the  sunlit  sea. 
And  as  it  died  away  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  call- 
ing her  to  follow.  The  children,  sporting  in  the 
waters,  smiled  on  her  and  urged  her  to  come. 
But  when  she  dipped  her  white  feet  in  the  water, 
lo,  the  sea  had  turned  to  blood! 

And  as  she  recoiled  from  the  awful  visage, 
lo,  and  of  a  sudden  the  air  became  laden  with 
countless  spirits,  mocking  her  and  fluttering  round 
her  on  tiny  feathered  wings.  Each  had  the  face 
of  Dunstan,  and  every  one  was  crying :  "  Harlot- 
queen  !  Harlot-queen ! "  Unable  to  listen,  she 
covered  her  ears  firmly  with  her  hands,  and  with 
a  shriek  fled  along  the  shore  of  the  sea. 
88 


VISIONS     OF     SORROW 

Running  at  full  speed,  she  seemed  to  flee  for 
hours  pursued  by  the  spirits  crying  "  Harlot- 
queen."  On,  till  at  last  she  came  to  the  end  of 
the  sea,  where  their  cries  ceased.  Exhausted,  she 
fell,  and  the  sun  set  in  the  far-off  waters,  blood- 
red  and  angry. 

Then  a  long  darkness  came  on,  in  which 
she  lay  as  if  asleep.  Slowly  the  moon  rose 
over  lofty  mountains,  and  filled  the  valleys  with 
its  silvery  light.  The  fields  were  covered  with 
frosted  snow  that  sparkled  in  the  pale-blue 
night. 

Anon  great  tall  women  strutted  about,  clad 
in  weird  costumes,  with  stately,  awing  mien. 
Their  feet  did  not  seem  to  touch  the  ground,  for 
they  left  no  prints  upon  the  snow. 

And  as  she  looked  they  changed  from  weird 
women  to  sweet,  pale-faced  nuns,  softly  clad  in 
whitest  raiments  with  golden  crosses  on  their 
breasts,  and  diadems  be  jeweled  on  their  brows. 

Suddenly  they  knelt  upon  the  snow,  and 
looked  ever}r  one  with  clasped  hands  toward  the 
lofty  mountains.  On  the  summit  of  a  peak  was 
a  figure  with  arms  outstretched,  lurid  against  the 
moon.  Slowly  it  descended  the  mountain,  moving 
7  89 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

steadily    and    surely   toward   the    spot    where    the 
queen  stood. 

And  as  it  came  near,  lo,  it  was  White  Heart, 
pale-faced  and  stricken  with  sorrow.  Her  white 
robes  were  torn  and  her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 
And  as  she  came  through  the  snow  her  feet  were 
bleeding:  and  the  footprints  she  had  made,  as 
far  as  eye  could  reach,  were  seen  to  be  stained 
with  blood.  From  her  hands,  too,  drops  of  blood 
were  falling,  and  as  they  fell  they  cried  as  with 
a  human  voice :  "  Vengeance !  Vengeance !  " 

The  kneeling  nuns,  sweet  and  pale-faced,  un- 
clasped their  hands  and  held  them  up  before  the 
queen's  eyes.  On  each  was  written  in  blood: 
"  Avenge  her !  Avenge  her !  " 

Silently,  without  word  or  speech,  save  the 
prayer  each  lifted  on  her  hands,  the  pale-faced 
nuns  then  rose,  and  slowly  moved  away  over  the 
mountain.  And  as  they  went,  each  planted  her 
feet  in  the  blood-stained  footprints  of  White 
Heart,  and  moved  in  a  long  line  slowly  up  the 
mountain,  till  they  reached  the  summit.  There 
they  all  stood  still  a  moment,  lifted  their  hands 
again  toward  the  queen,  and  cried  with  one  voice: 
"  Avenge  her !  Avenge  her !  " 
90 


VISIONS     OF     SORROW 

And  ere  the  distant  sound  reached  Elgiva's 
ears  they  had  disappeared  on  the  other  side. 

Then  the  queen  turned  to  speak  to  little  White 
Heart,  pale-faced  and  stricken  with  sorrow.  She 
touched  her  torn  robes  and  found  her  own  fingers 
become  stained  with  blood.  She  looked  into  White 
Heart's  eyes  and  read  a  great  sorrow.  But  she 
could  not  speak  one  word  of  solace.  And  the  blood 
kept  dropping  from  her  hands,  crying  louder  and 
louder  still :  "  Vengeance !  Vengeance !  " 

And  while  she  gazed  she  did  not  notice  that 
by  White  Heart's  side  stood  an  old  warrior  clothed 
with  the  garments  of  vengeance  and  clad  with  zeal 
as  a  cloak.  His  sword  was  on  fire  with  wrath, 
and  his  helmet  a  flame  of  indignation.  Taking 
her  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  slowly  away,  whisper- 
ing softly :  "  Fear  not,  White  Heart !  God  will 
avenge  thee !  " 

And  as  the  old  warrior  led  little  White  Heart 
away,  the  queen  burst  into  violent  tears  and 
woke;  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking,  and 
her  sobs  sounded  piteously  in  her  own  ears. 

Anon  she  fell  asleep  again  and  dreamed  once 
more. 

91 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

She  seemed  as  if  she  were  lying  in  a  field  of 
flowers.  The  larks  were  singing  in  the  heavens 
and  the  blackbirds  fluting  their  rich,  deep  notes 
in  the  wood  near  by.  She  rose  in  the  bright  sun- 
shine and  played  with  the  flowers  till  her  life 
bounded  with  gladness. 

Stooping  to  pluck  a  pale-pink  rose  from  a 
wild  bush  on  the  wood's  edge,  she  pricked  her 
finger  with  a  thorn.  Pulling  it  out,  she  lay  down 
again  among  the  flowers  and  slept. 

And  as  she  slept  she  dreamed  a  dream  within 
a  dream. 

She  lay  in  the  field  of  flowers,  but  every  rose 
she  plucked  pricked  her  and  every  flower  she 
culled  was  stained  with  her  own  blood.  Tiny 
drops  lay  in  the  heart  of  each. 

And  lifting  her  eyes  across  the  field,  she  saw 
the  king  coming,  riding  on  a  restless  charger, 
white  as  driven  snow  and  covered  with  beauty 
spots.  And  in  his  haste  he  made  as  if  he  would 
ride  past  her. 

Calling  to  him,  he  stayed  his  rein,  dismounted, 
and  stooped  to  kiss  her.  But  suddenly  he  drew 
back,  his  face  white  with  anguish,  crying:  "  O 
God !  God !  God ! " 

92 


VISIONS     OF     SORROW 

Hastily  mounting,  the  king  rode  away,  wailing 
a  wild  song  of  war,  and  vengeance,  and  death. 

But  ere  he  left  the  field  of  flowers  his  steed 
fell  under  him,  dead.  And,  lo,  it  was  no  longer 
white,  but  jet-black  and  glossy,  with  all  its  beauty 
spots  marked  with  blood! 

Then  round  the  royal  charger  came  a  great 
company  of  Saxon  children  with  long  flaxen 
curls,  their  gold  shining  in  the  golden  light.  And 
they  lifted  up  their  voices  to  heaven,  crying: 

"  Avenge,  Lord,  avenge !  " 

And  they  wept  sorely. 

And  suddenly  the  children  turned  to  Saxon 
warriors,  old  and  gray  and  scarred  and  blood- 
stained. Their  eyes  were  red  with  weeping  and 
no  man  among  the  rough  company  sought  to  hide 
his  tears.  Each  grasped  his  spear  strongly, 
looking  steadily  in  front,  and  wailed  the  same 
wild  song  of  war  the  king  had  sung  as  he  rode 
away. 

And  when  the  queen's  eyes  turned  from  the 
weeping  warriors  to  where  the  charger  lay,  lo, 
the  steed  had  changed  to  a  long  shield  on  which 
lay  an  angel  clothed  in  dazzling  raiment.  And 
as  the  queen  looked  on  her,  the  angel  rose  on  the 
93 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

shield  and  beckoned  the  warriors  to  follow  her 
even  to  death. 

On  her  brow  was  written  in  flaming  gold, 
"  JUSTICE,"  while  on  a  soft,  white  arm  she  raised 
to  the  warriors  was  written  "  VENGEANCE  " — 
written  in  blood  that  spread  over  her  arm  like 
letters  on  paper  that  will  not  carry. 

Drawn  by  the  beckoning  arm,  the  wondering 
queen  approached  the  angel. 

And  lo,  as  she  drew  near,  the  angel  lay  as  if 
dead  upon  the  long  shield.  And  her  garments 
seemed  as  a  shroud.  And  by  the  side  of  the  shield 
sate  the  king,  bent  with  pain. 

And  when  the  queen  drew  near,  she  knelt 
by  the  head  of  the  dead  angel,  and,  with  trem- 
bling hand,  lifted  the  cover  from  the  angel's 
face. 

And  lo,  it  was  her  own  face,  set  in  an  agony 
of  death! 

With  a  scream,  she  started  up  right  on  her 
couch,  and  awoke,  not  knowing  whether  she  were 
living  or  dead. 

For  a  long  while  she  lay  tossing  on  her  bed, 
dozing   and    starting    upright    many    times.      At 
94 


VISIONS     OF     SORROW 

length,  wearied  and  fearful,  she  fell  asleep  again, 
and  dreamed  once  more. 

She  lay  on  the  long  shield  in  the  place  of  the 
angel.  Edwy  sate  by  her  side  bent  with  pain. 
The  Saxon  children  stood  around  her  weeping. 
Their  long  flaxen  curls  lay  on  their  shoulders  and 
glistened  in  the  golden  light. 

Anon,  they  knelt  in  the  field  of  flowers  and 
sang  a  hymn,  plaintive  and  sad,  whose  words  she 
could  not  hear,  save  its  loud  refrain,  oft-recurring : 

Son  of  Mary,  in  thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send. 

And  then  the  old  warriors'  voices  rose  in  her 
ears.  Looking  round,  she  could  not  see  them  in 
the  field  of  flowers.  Their  music  fell  faintly  on 
her  spirit  as  if  sung  by  souls  afar  off.  Straining 
her  ears  to  catch  their  song,  lo,  it  was  the  hymn 
the  children  sang.  Deep,  low,  sepulchral,  came 
the  wild  refrain,  breaking  with  passion: 

Son  of  Mary,  in  thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send. 

And   when   the   last   echo   fell   faintly   on   the 
queen's  ear  she  turned  upon  the  long  shield,  sur- 
prised   to    find    herself    no    longer    clad    in    the 
95 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

shroud  of  death,  but  wearing  the  robes  of  eternal 
life.  She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  listened. 
And  the  far-off  music  of  the  old  warriors  entered 
her  soul.  Leaping  upright,  she  lifted  her  hands 
toward  heaven,  and  joined  in  the  loud  refrain: 

Son  of  Mary,  in  thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send. 

Then  she  awoke  to  find  herself  standing  up- 
right on  her  couch.  A  splinter  of  oak  was  in 
her  hand,  and  her  face  was  wet  with  tears. 


96 


CHAPTER    XIII 

FOR    THE    HONOR    OF    THE    KING 

THE  morrow  showed  the  king  the  insult  could 
not  be  regarded  as  due  to  excess  of  wine.  The 
overbearing  insolence  of  Odo  and  Dunstan  proved 
the  active  operation  of  a  plot  to  separate  him  from 
Elgiva  and  subject  the  kingdom  to  the  spiritual 
powers.  Young  as  he  was,  he  was  not  slow  to 
apprehend  the  pretext  of  the  clerics  and  to  fore- 
see the  manner  in  which  the  Church  would  seek  to 
have  its  way.  The  continent  furnished  an  ob- 
ject-lesson to  England,  during  the  preceding 
years  of  the  century,  of  the  Roman  pontiff's 
desires  for  temporal  supremacy.  It  was  evident 
the  same  desire  had  reached  England's  shore  and 
entered  the  hearts  of  Odo  and  Dunstan. 

The  pretext  for  strife  roused  the  indignation 
of  the  king.  His  righteous  spirit  stood  aghast 
at  the  hypocrisy  of  the  monks,  many  of  them  bur- 
dened with  lives  shamefully  immoral,  presuming 
to  damn  him  for  a  marriage  pure  and  holy  in  the 
97 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

sight  of  God,  if  not  strictly  according  to  the 
will  of  Rome.  Fires  of  anger  burned  in  his  heart, 
and  the  flames  would  fain  have  leaped  at  once  on 
the  priestly  offenders.  With  difficulty  the  king 
restrained  himself,  and  gave  his  mind  to  meet- 
ing the  subtle  movement  with  the  care  demanded. 

The  pure  soul  of  Elgiva  pointed  out  the  path 
of  honor.  The  kindred  spirit  of  the  king  saw  it, 
and  chose  for  himself  and  his  queen  the  way  of 
blood  and  battle  rather  than  the  path  of  base 
humiliation.  The  strength  of  his  nature  arose 
as  the  strength  of  the  foe  appeared,  and  the 
danger  that  threatened  the  nation.  Just  liberty 
of  action  and  independence  in  religion  his  native 
English  spirit  demanded,  and  would  maintain, 
against  all  the  wiles  and  movements  of  the  Roman 
party. 

The  tears  of  the  queen  laid  bare  the  stones 
of  the  road  along  which  her  tender  feet  must 
travel,  yet  would  she  follow  the  king  with  heart 
and  courage.  For  there  had  also  settled  deep  in 
her  breast  the  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage.  There 
was  breaking  from  her  soul  a  cry  for  punishment, 
just  and  terrible,  only  death  could  silence. 

Upon  Dunstan  as  the  genius  of  the  plot  and 
98 


HONOR     OF     THE     KING 

the  leader  of  the  party  of  revolt  the  king  deter- 
mined first  to  act.  The  move  was  beset  with  pecul- 
iar difficulties,  but,  if  successful,  would  probably 
defeat  the  policy  of  Odo  and  the  Church  for  a 
time.  The  strength  of  that  dominant  spirit,  Ead- 
wine  knew,  led  and  controlled  the  whole  movement 
against  the  throne.  The  withered  primate  and 
the  fleshy  bishop  would  change  their  policy,  if 
only  for  lack  of  brilliant  thoughts  and  powers  of 
administration,  could  the  clever  chancellor  be 
driven  from  the  scene  of  action. 

But  how  to  do  this?  The  court  was  crowded 
with  Dunstan's  friends.  Throughout  the  reign 
of  the  pious  but  feeble  Eadred  they  had  held  un- 
disputed sway,  greedily  seizing  every  office  death 
laid  open  or  force  could  gain.  The  royal  coun- 
selors were  men  Holy  Church  could  trust  to  look 
after  its  interests  and  push  its  claims.  The 
whisper  of  the  great  chancellor  became  the  will 
of  each.  His  genius  had  inspired  his  friends  with 
confidence  in  his  powers  to  win  the  day. 

Among   those    friends   were   the   hoary-headed 

Athelstane  and  Alfhere,  the  king's  own  kinsman, 

with  many  other  great  and  powerful  men.     In  all 

their  hearts  beat  the  hope  that  Dunstan  would  lead 

99 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

them  on  to  greater  power,  and  carry  them,  with 
him,  through  any  mountain  that  might  for  a  mo- 
ment block  the  way. 

On  certain  other  nobles,  great  and  good,  the 
king  felt  he  could  rely.  And  they  were  not  few. 
They  had  watched  through  two  reigns  the  grow- 
ing arrogance  of  the  Church,  and  felt  the  time 
had  come  to  seek  to  check  its  progress.  The 
haughtiness  of  Dunstan  particularly  had  exas- 
perated them.  There  were  men  among  them  who 
had  fought  with  the  fair  Athelstane  at  Brunan- 
burh,  and  well  remembered  that  "  great  fight "  for 
independence.  There  were  young  earls,  too,  whose 
swords  leaped  from  their  scabbards  in  defense  of 
the  rights  of  manhood  and  the  independence  of 
the  "  secular  "  clergy.  They  had  listened  to  the 
cry  of  brothers  and  kinsmen  serving  men  in  holy 
things,  and  recognized  their  social  sanctities. 
They  had  noted,  too,  the  cunning  of  the  sentence 
against  the  king.  The  chivalry  of  their  hearts 
closed  their  ranks  round  the  fair  form  of  the  per- 
secuted queen,  and  formed  a  square  that  glittered 
with  lances  good  and  true. 

Among  these  loyal  nobles  mark  especially 
Eadmund,  whose  love  for  the  king  may  only  be 
100 


HONOR     OF     THE     KING 

likened  to  that  of  Jonathan  for  David,  and  Al- 
fric,  and  Ethelsige.  To  them  must  be  added  that 
jewel  in  the  Saxon  crown,  the  king's  comitatiis, 
composed  of  men  of  honor,  sworn  to  sacrifice  life 
itself  in  the  service  of  the  king.  Stewards,  cup- 
bearers, chamberlains,  and  grooms,  in  time  of 
peace  bound  to  perform  the  most  menial  of  serv- 
ices, they  formed  in  time  of  war  a  body-guard 
for  the  king,  pledged  to  fight  for  him  every  bat- 
tle, and  to  die  with  him,  if  need  be,  rather  than 
leave  him  among  the  slain.  The  sense  of  honor 
was  keen  among  them  and  was  proof  against 
bribery  or  intrigue.  Whatever  the  fortunes  of 
the  king,  they  would  share  them  all,  choose  death 
gladly  for  his  sake,  holding  "  death  is  better  for 
every  warrior  than  a  life  of  shame." 

The  anger  of  these  men,  nobles  by  service  and 
nobles  by  birth,  was  roused  by  the  hypocrisy  of 
the  Holy  Church  into  holy  scorn  of  it,  that  made 
them  unjustly  cynical  as  to  any  good  thing  com- 
ing thence. 

"  Pity  the  day,"  said  Eadmund,  "  that  Greg- 
ory in  Rome  looked  upon  the  fair  countenances  of 
our  captive  ancestors,  and  sent  Augustine  to  make 
the  Angles  coheirs  with  the  angels  of  heaven. 
101 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

From  the  time  the  good  saint  came,  chanting 
litanies  and  elevating  the  silver  cross,  we  have 
lived  in  fear  of  sorcery  and  craft,  like  Ethelbert 
of  old.1  From  the  first  they  have  cared  more  for 
Romish  supremacy  and  ecclesiastical  advancement 
than  the  cure  of  souls  or  the  making  of  angels !  " 

"What  else  could  be  expected,"  added  Alfric, 
"  of  men  who  have  ever  put  fraud  before  truth, 
and  built  up  the  fabric  of  Holy  Church  on  foun- 
dations of  artifice  and  superstition?  Like  Lau- 
rentius,  the  good  saint's  wily  successor,  they  have 
endured  stripes,  whether  inflicted  by  apostles  or 
priests,  if  only  the  '  last  attempt  on  the  mind  of 
Eadbald  '  might  prove  effective."  2 


1  The  king,  Ethelbert,  apprehending  sorcery  under  a  roof 
would  only  consent  to  meet  Augustine  under  the  open  sky. 

2  Laurentius,  having  lost  control  of  Eadbald's  will,  was  on 
the  point  of  retiring  to  the  Continent  when   the  event  was 
averted  by  stratagem.     On  the  eve  of  his  departure  he  ordered 
his  bed  to  be  prepared  in  the  church  at  Canterbury.     That 
morning  he  appeared  before  the  king  with  the  marks  of  stripes 
upon  his  person,  and  on  Eadwald  inquiring  whence  they  had 
come,  he  said  that,  in  the  dead  of  night,  the  apostle  Peter  had 
visited  his  couch,  and  scourged  him  for  thinking  of  deserting 
his  flock.     Dismayed  at  the  spectacle  and  apprehending  a  sim- 
ilar visitation,  the  king  submitted  to  the  waters  of  baptism. 
Lingard,  the  Roman  historian,  aware  of  its  fraudulency,  con- 
verts the  transaction  into  Laurentius  making  "  a  last  attempt 
on  the  mind  of  Eadbald." 

102 


HONOR     OF     THE     KING 

"  Had  the  Northumbrian  ealdorman  known," 
cried  the  dark-eyed  Ethelsige,  "  of  the  craft  be- 
hind the  new  doctrine  he  would  have  thought  him 
twice  ere  he  made  his  pretty  speech  *  to  the  fair 
king's  namesake  of  the  north  and  have  voted  against 
its  adoption  in  the  realm." 

"  And,  to  speak  truth,"  continued  Alfric,  rub- 
bing his  scarred  brow,  "  their  crafty  schemes  have 
proved  effective  with  other  kings  than  Eadwald. 
The  cloister  and  the  good  Saint  Swithin  taught 
the  weak-brained  Ethelwulf  his  duty  to  the  Holy 
Church!" 

"  And  to  the  good  Saint  Swithin,"  broke  in 
Ethelsige.  "  For  was  not  one  of  the  first  acts  the 

1  This  speech  deserves  quotation,  not  merely  for  the  appo- 
siteness  of  the  image  employed,  and  the  high  poetic  feeling, 
but  as  a  vivid  sketch  of  ancient  manners  :  "  Thou  hast  seen, 
O  king,  when  the  fire  blazed,  and  the  hall  was  warm,  and  thou 
wast  seated  at  the  feast  amidst  thy  nobles,  whilst  the  winter 
storm  raged  without  and  the  snow  fell,  how  some  solitary  spar- 
row has  flown  through,  scarcely  entered  at  one  door  before  it 
disappeared  at  the  other.  Whilst  it  is  in  the  hall  it  feels  not 
the  storm,  but  after  the  space  of  a  moment  it  returns  to  whence 
it  came,  and  thou  beholdest  it  no  longer,  nor  knowest  where 
nor  to  what  it  may  be  exposed.  Such,  as  it  appears  to  me,  is 
the  life  of  man — a  short  moment  of  enjoyment,  and  we  know 
not  whence  we  came  nor  whither  we  are  going.  If  this  new 
doctrine  brings  us  any  greater  certitude  of  the  future,  I  for 
one  vote  for  its  adoption." 

103 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

cloister-made  king  performed  to  make  his  tutor 
Bishop  of  Winchester  and  chancellor  of  the 
realm?  The  good  saint  had  taught  him  well, 
no  doubt ! " 

"  Cramped  in  native  force,"  went  on  Alfric, 
grimly  smiling,  "  captivated  by  superstitions,  and 
enslaved  to  papal  dominion,  he  served  the  Holy 
Church  right  well,  presented  her  with  a  tenth  of 
the  royal  domains,  and  freed  all  ecclesiastical 
lands  from  secular  burdens !  " 

"  Then  went  on  a  holy  pilgrimage  to  Rome," 
broke  in  Ethelsige  again,  "  squandered  his  coun- 
try's wealth  in  ostentatious  gifts  to  the  Pope,  the 
clergy,  and  the  churches,  and  was  paid  back  with 
the  papal  benediction!  But  on  his  way  home,  to 
show  how  good  and  pious  the  heart  of  the  Church's 
darling  really  was,  he  forgot  to  remember  his 
Saxon  wife,  Osberga,  and  her  four  sons  and 
daughter,  and  contracted  a  marriage  with  Judith, 
daughter  of  Charles  the  Bold,  then  only  twelve 
years  old ! " 

"  But   justice   did   not   forget,"   put   in   Ead- 

mund.      "  His   action  roused  popular   resentment, 

and    forced   him   in    the    weakness    of   his    sin    to 

divide  his  kingdom.     Then  he  died,  denounced  by 

104 


HONOR     OF     THE     KING 

the  Church  and  hated  by  the  people.  But  his 
sin  lived  and  grew.  Judith,  casting  her  net  for 
a  king,  drew  in  Ethelbald,  the  eldest  son  of  the 
cloister-king.  He  married  his  youthful  '  step- 
mother,' incurred  public  disgrace,  and  ended  his 
days  soon  amid  storms  of  indignation.  So  the 
sin  worked  itself  out,  in  shame  and  confusion,  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  people." 

"  Nor  Osberga,  in  her  shame,  did  justice  for- 
get to  honor,"  broke  in  Eadwine  the  king.  "  For 
one  day  she  happened  to  show  her  children  a  book 
of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  saying :  *  Whichever  of 
you  can  first  learn  this  book  shall  have  it  as  a 
gift.'  Drawn  by  the  beauty  of  the  illuminated 
capitals,  the  youngest  applied  himself  to  the  task, 
won  the  prize,  and  thus  acquired  his  taste  for 
reading.  So  was  Osberga  honored  in  her  shame. 
For  posterity  will  not  forget  her  when  it  thinks 
of  the  great  Alfred,  her  son,  and  the  father  of 
English  literature." 

"  Nor  will  it  forget  thee,  O  king,"  answered 
Eadmund  bravely,  "  for  daring  to  resist  the 
power  of  popes  and  prelates  unscrupulously 
used.  Monks  may  defile  thy  memory,  but  truth 
will  out  and  justice  triumph  in  the  end.  Long 
8  105 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

have  they  used  this  marriage  law  to  suit  their  own 
purposes  and  extort  the  price  of  dispensations. 
Long  have  they  brought  the  innocent  and  igno- 
rant to  wretchedness  and  shame.  Long  have  they 
entered  the  private  sanctuary  of  home  and  torn 
asunder,  at  the  holy  altar  there,  men  and  women 
truly  wed  according  to  the  laws  of  God  and  the 
dictates  of  humanity.  But  the  day  of  retribution 
must  come!  And  happy  thou,  my  king,  if  thou 
dost  lead  the  way.  Strike,  and  fear  not,  for  jus- 
tice fights  for  thee.  Strike,  and  the  spirits  of 
men  and  women,  saddened  and  ruined  by  Holy 
Church,  will  pray  for  the  victory.  Thrice  blessed 
will  be  the  day  that  sees  men  free  to  live  accord- 
ing to  the  noblest  impulse  given  by  God  to  the 
human  heart ! " 

The  king  listened,  well  pleased,  to  the  speech 
of  Eadmund.  And  when  preparations  for  the 
conflict  were  complete,  he  entrusted  to  him  the 
task  of  bringing  the  chiefs  to  judgment. 

To  begin,  sentence  of  outlawry  was  pro- 
nounced against  the  wily  Dunstan.  Driven  from 
court,  he  took  refuge  at  Glastonbury. 

And  thence  the  king  determined  to  banish  him 
the  realm. 

106 


HONOR     OF     THE     KING 

With  a  troop  of  the  king's  guard,  Eadmund 
made  ready  to  carry  out  the  royal  will. 

"  Go !  "  cried  the  king.  "  Remember  his  in- 
sult to  the  throne  and  his  insolence  to  all  the  nobles. 
Remember  our  queen  and  avenge  the  outrage  on 
her.  In  the  name  of  God,  and  of  all  that  is  pure 
and  noble,  strike,  and  spare  not ! " 

"  Aye,"  cried  the  queen,  "  let  your  swords  be 
on  fire,  and  your  helmets  aflame  with  indignation! 
Strike,  and  spare  not ! " 

Thus  commanded,  the  brave  young  champions 
of  justice  mounted  their  steeds  and  rode  away, 
bent  on  executing  the  king's  commands  with  heart 
and  might  upon  the  mischief-making  head  of 
Dunstan. 


107 


CHAPTER    XIV 

A    BENEDICTINE    GOWN 

RIDING  hard,  Eadmund  and  his  troop  came, 
on  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  to  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  Salisbury  Plain,  and  encamped  amid  the 
ruins  of  Stonehenge.1  The  sun  was  setting,  and 
the  long  shadows  of  the  mystic  pile  lay  across  the 
land.  Far  over  the  vast  space  the  fading  light 
touched  the  distant  mounds,  and  lifted  them  to 
passing  view.  Then  the  crimson  turned  to  gray 
and  gray  to  blackest  night.  And  in  the  darkness 
naught  was  heard  save  the  hoot  of  the  owl  and 
the  lonesome  screech  of  the  bird  of  prey. 

Drawing  their  cloaks  around  them,  the  king's 

1  The  stupendous  ruins  of  Stonehenge,  situate  in  Salisbury 
Plain,  that  vast  graveyard  of  generations  long  since  passed 
away,  were  formerly  supposed  to  be  the  ruins  of  Druidical 
temples,  but  they  are  not  mentioned  by  any  ancient  writer. 
It  is  quite  uncertain  to  what  age  we  should  refer  these  and 
other  rude  stone  monuments  of  the  prehistorical  Britons.  In 
the  compound  word  "  Stone-henge,"  the  latter  part,  "  henge," 
probably  signifies  the  impost,  which  is  suspended  on  two  up- 
rights.— Guest  in  Proceedings  of  Philological  Society,  vol.  vi, 
p.  33,  quoted  by  Hume. 

108 


A     BENEDICTINE     GOWN 

troops  lay  down  within  the  mystic  circle,  and 
waited  impatiently  for  dawn.  The  dense  dark- 
ness muffled  the  sounds  of  the  night  and  stark 
loneliness  startled  the  mind  with  fear.  The  ear 
pricked  itself  at  every  movement,  and  the  eye 
vainly  sought  to  pierce  the  great  gloom.  But 
weariness  and  sleep  pressed  more  clamorously  than 
hoot  of  owl  or  screech  of  vulture,  and  soon  the 
whole  troop  slumbered.  Another  day,  and  they 
hoped  to  have  the  saint  in  hand. 

At  midnight  Eadmund  was  roused  by  a  loud, 
piercing  cry  and  the  sound  as  of  two  men  run- 
ning. Leaping  to  his  feet,  he  strained  his  eyes  in 
the  gloom  and  listened. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  runners  ceased,  and  a 
noise  as  of  two  men  struggling  for  life  came 
through  the  darkness. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  king ! "  shouted  a  voice 
strangely  familiar. 

"  Never !  "  rang  the  answer,  loud,  defiant. 

And  a  great  curse  echoed  and  reechoed 
throughout  the  mystic  pile. 

Then    a    pale,    ghostly    light    glowed    in    the 
darkness  whence  came  the  sounds,  and  a  broken 
shout  of  agony  trembled  in  the  air. 
109 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Eadmund  hastened  toward  the  ghostly  light, 
and  came  to  a  stand  at  the  western  stone  of  the 
mystic  pile.  He  lifted  his  hands  and  stood  aghast 
at  the  sight  which  met  him. 

A  trooper  lay  huddled  against  the  stone.  His 
face  and  shoulders  were  glowing  with  pale,  phos- 
phorescent light.  His  eyes  were  strained  with 
sudden  agony,  and  his  body  limp  in  death.  And 
in  the  grip  of  his  right  hand  was  a  Benedictine 
gown. 

Stooping  to  lift  the  gown,  Eadmund  was  con- 
scious of  a  strange  and  powerful  odor.  In  a 
trice  he  felt  his  senses  reel,  and  he  would  have 
fallen  had  not  the  strong  arms  of  Alfric  held  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  whole  troop  had  roused 
itself  and  gazed  on  the  ghostly  light  that  lay  on 
their  dead  comrade.  And  as  many  as  stooped  to 
touch  the  Benedictine  gown  reeled  and  fell.  And 
the  fingers  of  all  who  touched  it  glowed  with  the 
pale  phosphorescent  light. 

"  A  Benedictine  spy ! "  shouted  Eadmund. 
"  Scour  the  Plain  and  find  him !  " 

Away  the  troopers  sped  over  the  broad  Plain; 
and  their  fingers,  pale  and  phosphorescent,  shone 
like  glowworms  in  the  night. 
110 


A     BENEDICTINE     GOWN 

Far  and  wide  they  scoured  the  vast  expanse. 
But  no  sight  or  sound  of  the  owner  of  the  Bene- 
dictine gown  could  they  find. 

"  To  Glastonbury !  "  cried  Eadmund.  "  Quick, 
or  we  may  ride  in  vain !  " 

And  leaving  the  Benedictine  gown  in  the  grip 
of  their  comrade's  hand,  the  king's  troops  mounted 
their  startled  steeds  and  galloped  away. 


Ill 


CHAPTER    XV 

A      SAINT      AT      HOME 

ON  the  wings  of  the  wind  we  come  to  Glas- 
tonbury  before  the  king's  troops  arrive.  At 
once,  we  are  on  enchanted  ground  and  tread  lightly 
as  we  gaze  on  places  hoary  with  age,  sacred,  and 
romantic.  Home  of  saints,  and  burial  place  of 
kings,  the  air  is  laden  with  prayers  or  beating  with 
martial  deeds. 

Situated  in  the  midst  of  beautiful  fen-land, 
Glastonbury  was  an  island  town  in  those  old 
romantic  days.  "  Ynyswytryn,"  our  British  fa- 
thers called  it,  and  when  they  had  hewn  down 
the  thick  underwood  and  found  apple-trees  grow 
luxuriantly  round,  "  The  Isle  of  Avalon "  or 
"  The  Isle  of  Apples."  Encircled  by  streams  and 
well-watered  lands,  the  place  possessed  many  nat- 
ural charms.  Unforced  fruits  and  willing  com- 
forts met  on  every  hand.  Beauty  in  profusion 
and  food  in  plenty  lay  along  the  valley.  Nature, 
sang  the  poets,  had  enchanted  the  land,  poured 


A     SAINT     AT     HOME 

out  her  wealth  upon  this  spot,  and  cultivated  it 
herself,  despising  rustic  hands.     Thus — 

The  fertile  plains  with  corn  and  herds  were  proud, 
And  golden  apples  shone  in  every  wood. 

Home  of  saints,  and  burial-place  of  kings, 
first  came  to  this  enchanted  land,  tradition  sayeth, 
Saint  Joseph  of  Arimathea  to  preach  the  gospel 
of  the  Nazarene.  Here,  in  the  course  of  days, 
the  arms  that  laid  the  dead  body  of  the  Saviour 
in  the  rich  man's  tomb  found  a  resting-place  with 
many  tokens  of  his  Master's  presence. 

Here  was  born  the  good  Saint  Patrick — 
whether  certainly  the  same  as  gave  poor  Ireland 
peace  no  man  knoweth — and  labored  long  in  weary 
age,  till  like  a  patriarch  he  died. 

Here,  too,  came  the  good  King  Arthur,  first 
breathing  war  and  vengeance  on  Meluas  for  the 
sake  of  Guinevere,  and  then,  after  many  battles, 
to  heal  him  of  his  grievous  wound.  At  Camlin, 
sorely  hurt  in  fearful  fray,  he  bade  Sir  Bedivere 
farewell  and  turned  his  clouded  eyes — 

To  the  Island  Valley  of  Avalon, 

Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 

Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly,  but  it  lies 

Deep  meadowed,  happy,  fair  with  orchard  lawns, 

113 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

And  bowery  meadows,  crowned  with  summer  sun, 
Where  I  will  heal  me  of  my  grievous  wound. 

But,  in  place  of  healing,  Arthur  found  a  tomb, 
and  lies  with  sweet  Guinevere,  sleeping  peacefully 
in  much-beloved  Avalon. 

Here,  also,  King  Alfred,  in  his  broken  for- 
tunes, found  a  home,  and  got  the  new  vision  which 
gave  him  victory.  Humbled  by  grief  and  brought 
to  want,  he  entertained  an  angel  unawares,  and 
was  blessed  to  find  him  Cuthbert,  the  Soldier  of 
Christ^  henceforth  his  shield  and  friend.  Issuing 
forth  from  Glastonbury,  he  restored  his  broken 
fortunes,  and  won  the  title  of  "  England's  great- 
est king." 

In  this  watered  paradise,  hallowed  by  such 
memories,  Saint  Dunstan  was  born,  son  of  Heors- 
tan,  a  man  of  wealth  and  noble  blood,  kinsman  of 
three  bishops  of  the  time  and  of  many  thanes 
of  the  court,  if  not  of  the  king  himself.  In  his 
father's  hall  the  fair  diminutive  boy,  with  scant 
but  beautiful  locks,  caught  his  passionate  love  of 
music,  the  vain  songs  of  ancient  heathendom,  the 
trifling  legends,  and  funeral  chants,  which  after- 
ward gave  color  to  the  charge  of  sorcery  raised 
against  him. 


A     SAINT     AT     HOME 

At  the  abbey  the  boy  received  an  education 
and  laid  the  foundations  of  a  scholarship  sur- 
passing that  of  any  other  in  his  time.  The  wan- 
dering scholars  of  Ireland  left  their  books  in  the 
monastery  of  Glastonbury,  as  they  left  them 
along  the  Rhine  and  the  Danube,  and  Dunstan 
plunged  into  the  study  of  letters,  sacred  and  pro- 
fane, till  his  mind  reeled  with  learning  and  his 
brain  broke  down  with  delirium. 

Tradition  tells  that  as  a  schoolboy  he  had  a 
vision  of  himself  as  abbot,  and  of  the  abbey,  which 
then  lay  stripped  of  former  splendor,  restored  by 
his  energy  to  vast  magnificence.  Founded  at  a 
very  early  date,  the  monastery  had  once  before 
fallen  into  decay  and  been  rebuilt  with  great 
splendor  by  Ina,  king  of  Wessex.  Enriched  by 
the  liberality  of  successive  princes,  it  flourished 
till  the  period  of  the  Danish  devastations  in  Al- 
fred's early  years,  when,  with  many  other  archi- 
tectural wonders,  it  was  almost  completely  ruined. 
Of  cruciform  shape,  some  three  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  long  by  seventy  across  the  choir  and 
aisles,  it  was  restored  by  Dunstan  according  to 
the  plan  in  the  vision  sent  him,  with  the  munifi- 
cence of  the  kings  and  saints  he  controlled. 
115 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Here  at  home,  Dunstan  is  great  and  beautiful, 
a  man  loving  and  beloved,  a  scholar  and  artist 
of  brilliant  achievements.  Mark  him  well  in  his 
loveliness,  in  the  great  church  of  his  dreams  and 
the  college  of  his  genius,  far  away  from  the 
seductions  and  temptations  of  the  court  that  pan- 
dered to  his  lust  of  place  and  power  and  led  him 
to  tarnish  his  fair  name  with  the  guilt  of  atrocious 
crimes. 

Leading  the  way  in  the  work  of  teaching, 
tradition  tells  of  the  kindliness  with  which  he  won 
the  love  of  his  scholars,1  the  psalms  sang  with 
them  as  they  journeyed  together,  and  the  vision 
that  comforted  Dunstan  for  the  loss  of  one  little 
scholar  as  he  saw  the  child  borne  heavenward  in 
the  arms  of  angels.  Guiding  the  Church  in  the 
crusade  of  Benedict,  the  same  tradition  tells  of 
his  youthful  love  of  a  royal  maiden  and  that 

1  At  Canterbury,  a  hundred  years  after  his  death,  Dunstan 
was  regarded  as  the  patron  and  protector  of  schoolboys. 
Once,  in  Anselm's  time,  when  the  yearly  whipping-day  arrived 
for  the  Cathedral  school,  the  poor  little  wretches  crowded 
weeping  to  his  shrine  and  sought  aid  from  their  "  dear  father 
Dunstan."  He  it  was,  so  every  schoolboy  believed,  who 
sent  the  masters  to  sleep,  and  then  set  them  quarreling 
till  the  whipping  blew  over. — Green's  Conquest  of  Eng- 
land, p.  294. 

116 


A     SAINT    AT     HOME 

throughout  his  life  he  ever  won  the  love  of  fair 
and  saintly  women.1 

Mark  him  well  in  the  glory  that  here  rests 
upon  him,  that  you  may  love  and  reverence  him 
now,  even  if  in  aftertime  you  come  to  scorn  and 
pity  him  for  his  sins. 

The  day  Eadmund  and  the  king's  troops  came 
to  Glastonbury  Dunstan  was  in  his  cell,  after 
the  Midday-Song.  Round  it  were  specimens  of 
his  own  artistic  labors.  Over  his  private  altar 
was  a  beautifully  wrought  iron  cross  with  the 
Saviour  upon  it,  and  on  the  altar  a  tiny  censer  in 
which  sweet  incense  was  smoldering — both  made 
in  his  rude  hermit-smithy  long  ago,  when  he  prac- 
tised earnestly  the  austerities  of  a  simple  monk. 
On  an  easel  was  an  exquisitely  painted  picture 
of  the  Holy  Virgin,  awaiting  his  finishing  touches. 
On  a  rough  oak  table  was  a  book  of  Ovid's  Art 
of  Love  which  jostled  oddly  with  an  English 
homily  on  the  Invention  of  the  Cross,  and  a 

1  In  one  pleasant  tale  of  these  days  a  lady  summons  him  to 
her  house  to  design  a  robe  which  she  is  embroidering  ;  and,  as 
Dunstan  bends  with  her  maidens  over  their  toil,  his  harp, 
which  he  has  hung  on  the  wall,  sounds,  without  mortal  touch, 
tones  which  the  startled  ears  around  frame  into  a  joyous  anti- 
phon. — See  Green's  Conquest  of  England,  pp.  281-287. 

117 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

charter,  obtained  by  him  from  King  Eadmund, 
written  in  letters  of  gold,  in  the  book  of  the  Gos- 
pels, elegantly  adorned. 

The  abbot  was  copying,  in  beautifully  illu- 
minated characters,  Ovid's  Art  of  Love,  and 
dreaming  of  the  royal  maiden  whom  he  had  for- 
saken for  the  cloister.  The  vision  of  her  lovely 
face  floated  before  his  eyes  to-day  and  stirred 
the  natural  feelings  he  had  long  crucified.  Leav- 
ing the  manuscript,  he  rose,  lifted  his  harp  from 
the  floor,  and  sang  to  himself,  passionately  and 
fondly,  one  of  the  old  vain  songs  of  ancient 
heathendom  :  1 

Weland  for  a  woman  knew  too  well  exile  ! 
Strong  of  soul  that  earl,  sorrows  sharp  he  bore  ; 
To  companionship  he  had  care  and  weary  longing, 
Winter-freezing  wretchedness.    Woe  he  found  again,  again, 
After  that  Nithhad  in  a  Need  had  laid  him  — 
Staggering  sinew-wounds  —  sorrow-smitten  man  ! 
That  he  overwent  ;  this  also  may  I. 


Stopford  Brooke's  History  of  Early  English  Litera- 
ture, vol.  i,  pp.  7,  8,  9.  Of  this  poem,  The  Lament  of  Deor, 
he  says  :  "Its  form  is  remarkable.  It  has  a  refrain,  and 
there  is  no  other  early  English  instance  of  this  known  to  us. 
It  is  written  in  strophes,  and  Sweet  thinks  that  it  may  be  a 
solitary  remnant  of  a  number  of  English  strophia  lays  which 
belonged  to  the  same  class  as  some  of  the  old  Scandina- 
vian lays  which  were  rudely  strophic.  One  motive,  constant 

118 


A     SAINT     AT     HOME 

Not  to  Beadohild  was  her  brother's  death 
On  her  soul  so  sore  as  was  her  self-sorrow, 
When  that  she  was  sure,  with  a  surety  far  too  great, 
That  with  child  she  was.     Never  could  she  think, 
With  a  clear  remembrance,  how  that  came  to  be. 
That  she  overwent ;  this  also  may  I. 

Of  this  meed  of  Hild  we've  from  many  heard ; 
And  so  bottomless  was  the  passion  Geat  felt, 
That  Love-sorrow  stole  all  his  sleep  away  ! 
That  he  overwent ;  this  also  may  I. 

For  a  thirty  winters  did  Theodric  fast 
Hold 'the  Maerings'burg.     Many  knew  of  that. 
That  he  overwent ;  this  also  may  I. 

We  in  songs  have  heard  of  the  wolfish  thought 
That  Eormanric  had  !     Far  he  owned  the  folk 
Of  the  Gotens'  realm.     Grisly  was  that  king. 
Many  a  warrior  sat,  with  his  sorrows  cloaked, 
Woe  within  his  waiting  !     Wistfully  he  longed 
That  the  kingdom's  king  overcome  should  be  ! 
That  he  overwent ;  this  also  may  I. 

So  engrossed  was  the  abbot  in  his  song,  he  did 
not  hear  the  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  without. 

throughout,  is  expressed  in  the  refrain.  This  dominant  cry  of 
passion  makes  the  poem  a  true  lyric,  and  we  ought  to  look 
upon  it  with  pleasure,  for  it  is  the  Father  of  all  English  lyrics." 
Sweet  conjectures  that  it  may  have  been  composed  before  the 
English  migration  from  the  Continent,  but  Stopford  Brooke 
thinks  it  was  "made  in  England,"  and  some  authorities  put  it 
so  far  on  as  the  eighth  century. 

119 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

The  music  that  floated  down  the  corridor  sent  no 
thrill  through  the  soul  of  the  coming  monk. 
Knocking  loudly  at  the  abbot's  cell,  he  startled 
him  from  his  reverie  and  called  for  speed. 

Harp  in  hand,  Dunstan  flung  open  the  door 
of  his  cell. 

"  Ho,  Oslac,  what  haste?  " 

"  Thy  life  is  in  danger  and  thou  must  flee. 
The  cry  has  gone  forth  at  last." 

"Danger?      Whence?" 

"  The  king  sendeth  troops  to  seize  thee.  Al- 
ready the  sound  of  hoofs  is  heard  approaching. 
A  faithful  Benedictine  has  come,  who,  having 
gasped  the  news,  has  swooned  away.  He  had 
ridden  all  night  long." 

"  '  Sendeth  troops  to  seize  me '  ?  Who  would 
have  thought  the  youngster  would  have  dared? 
Close  the  gates  and  saddle  the  horses,  and  Ead- 
wine  will  learn  how  vain  it  is  to  try  his  strength 
with  Dunstan's.  Make  speed.  We  must  over  the 
rolling  waters — the  gannet's  bath,  the  whale's  do- 
main— and  bid  the  king  farewell !  Haste  and  make 
ready !  " 

Oslac  hurried  away,  and  Dunstan  paced  his 
cell  in  great  excitement.  Though  long  on  guard, 
120 


A     SAINT     AT     HOME 

he  scarce  expected  Eadwine  would  enter  into  open 
strife  with  him  and  range  the  state  against  the 
Church. 

"  The  daring  youngster  must  have  underrated 
the  forces  the  priests  can  command!  To  dream 
of  quelling  the  Saint  of  Glastonbury !  To  fancy 
he  would  be  so  easily  caught!  To-day  he  must 
flee,  but — to-morrow !  " 

At  the  thought  the  Saint's  pale  face  set  firmly. 
Then  would  Eadwine  and  Elgiva  feel  the  power 
of  his  anger!  Then  would  this  humiliation  be 
repaid  with  agony  untold!  And  hope  was  sweet 
to  his  heart  as  blood  to  the  lips  of  a  leopard. 

Taking  his  harp  again,  he  struck  it,  and  sang 
with  new  force  and  passion: 

Weland  for  a  woman  knew  too  well  exile  ! 
Strong  of  soul  that  earl,  sorrows  sharp  he  bore ; 
To  companionship  he  had  care  and  weary  longing, 
Winter-freezing  wretchedness.    Woe  he  found  again,  again, 
After  that  Nithhad  in  a  Need  had  laid  him — 
Staggering  sinew-wounds — sorrow-smitten  man  ! 
That  he  overwent ;  this  also  may  I." 

Force   and   passion,    fury    and   threat   entered 
into  Dunstan's  voice  and  broke  loose  in  the  wild 
refrain.     He  swooped  down  upon  it,  and  shook  it, 
like  a  lion  the  sheep  it  would  rend. 
9  121 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

His  joy  was  delirious.  He  saw  victory  from 
afar  as  if  already  it  had  come.  His  hands  moved 
nervously  as  if  clutching  at  the  heart  of  the  queen. 
His  eyes  leaped  with  bounding  glee  at  the  agony 
of  the  king.  His  pale  face  shone  with  the  glow 
of  victory.  His  whole  frame  quivered  with  an 
ecstasy  of  exultation.  To  dream  of  slaying  Dun- 
stan !  To  fancy  he  could  be  caught !  To  forget 
his  power!  To  smile  at  his  cunning! 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  Wait  Eadwine!  Wait  El- 
giva!  On  the  third  day,  Dunstan,  like  the  Christ, 
will  rise  again !  " 

The  words  had  scarce  escaped  him  ere  Oslac 
came  bounding  back  into  the  cell. 

"  Quick,  sir !  Quick !  The  troops  are  thun- 
dering at  the  gates  and  must  soon  find  entrance. 
Quick !  or  we  shall  be  taken !  " 

"  Never,  Oslac,  never !  To-day  we  must  flee 
but  to-morrow  we  shall  pursue.  Yea,  though 
the  kingdom  be  crushed  to  win  us  victory,  though 
the  Danes  be  let  loose  in  overwhelming  flood  upon 
the  south,  though  England  herself  perish  at  our 
hand.  Lay  it  well  to  heart,  Oslac,  that  when  the 
day  comes  a  laurel  may  rest  upon  thy  brow.  Lift 
up  thine  eyes,  and  behold  the  queen  in  her  beauty, 


A     SAINT     AT     HOME 

and  know  that  she  shall  be  thine,  when  Eadwine 
is  no  more." 

"  Aye,  Dunstan.  But  the  horses  wait,  and 
the  king's  troops  clamor  for  thy  life." 

And  while  he  spake  there  was  a  loud  crash,  and 
a  shout  of  triumph  that  drowned  the  voice  of 
Oslac.  The  Saint  rushed  to  the  window  of  his 
cell  and  looked  out.  The  royal  troops  had 
forced  one  of  the  gates,  and  were  pouring  into  the 
nave,  and  through  that  into  the  cloistered  area. 

"  Quick,  sir,  quick,"  shouted  Oslac,  "  else  they 
will  seize  us !  " 

And  hastily  crossing  himself,  Dunstan  hurried 
from  the  cell  and  fled  in  the  wake  of  the  fleet- 
footed  Oslac. 


123 


CHAPTER    XVI 

OVEE    THE    MENDIPS    TO    THE    SEA 

TAKING  a  secret  passage,  they  ran  toward  a 
side-gate  in  the  northern  wall  of  the  abbey,  and 
leaped  into  the  saddles  of  their  impatient  steeds. 
Wending  their  way  swiftly  by  a  sheltered  bridle- 
path, they  came,  in  the  course  of  an  hour's  hard 
ride,  to  the  great  road  that  led  by  Wells  to  the 
ancient  port  of  Bristol.  They  dug  their  heels  into 
their  horses'  sides  and  urged  them  on. 

"  May  the  king's  troops  search  for  us  long," 
cried  Dunstan. 

"  And  rest  their  weary  souls  in  our  cells 
awhile,"  answered  Oslac. 

"  And  may  the  devil  confound  their  counsels !  " 
"  And  lead  them  back  to  Kingston !  " 
"  Else  give  us  a  good  start,  Oslac." 
"  And  hold  hard  on  to  them,  Dunstan." 
And  the  good  Saint  smiled  grimly,  and  gave 
his  horse  its  rein. 

Away,   for  their  lives,  they   galloped   as   fast 


THE     MENDIPS     TO     THE     SEA 

as  their  steeds  would  carry  them.  On,  on,  mile 
after  mile  at  breakneck  pace,  over  rough  road 
and  marshy  ground.  On,  through  Wells  and  up 
the  Mendip  Hills,  making  straight  for  the  sea. 

And  from  the  summit  they  discerned,  to  their 
dismay,  the  king's  troops  fast  in  pursuit  of  them. 

Spurring  their  panting  steeds,  they  slipped 
down  the  slopes  of  the  hills,  and  galloped  on  for 
their  lives. 

A  red  deer  dashed  along  the  road  that  led 
past  Dundry,  and  Oslac,  forgetting  for  a  moment 
himself  was  pursued,  dashed  after  it,  with  the 
overcoming  instinct  of  a  sportsman. 

On,  on,  the  abbot  closely  following,  over  the 
marshy  plain,  pursued  and  pursuing.  On,  till 
they  came  to  Dundry  hill,  where  the  red  deer 
found  a  covert. 

And  looking  back,  they  saw  the  better-mounted 
troops  were  slowly  gaining. 

It  was  a  terrible  ride  over  that  rough  country. 
Could  their  horses  keep  it  up?  Already  they 
began  to  slacken  and  fail.  Only  a  few  miles  more, 
and  they  might  yet  escape! 

Plunging  their  spurs  into  their  panting  steeds, 
they  urged  them  on,  and  on. 
125 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  But  what  if  no  ship  were  ready  to  sail?  " 

"  May  fortune  favor  us !  "  they  prayed. 

On,  on,  on,  the  king's  troops  gaining  fast. 

On,  on,  till  the  ships  of  Bristol  hove  in  sight, 
and  darkness  crept  along  the  sky. 

On,  till  at  last  they  came  to  the  quay,  only 
to  find  to  their  consternation  that  no  ship  was 
ready  to  sail! 

They  rushed  to  and  fro,  from  ship  to  ship, 
earnestly  seeking  some  one  who  would  sail  forth- 
with. 

"  Away  at  once,"  cried  Dunstan  to  a  captain, 
"  and  thou  shalt  have  this  bag  of  gold." 

But  the  old  salt  shook  his  head,  and  pointed 
to  the  tavern,  where  reveled  his  drinking  crew. 

In  vain  were  all  their  tempting  offers.  In 
vain  their  earnest  blandishments.  And  they 
turned,  fearful,  baffled,  lest  they  should  be 
caught,  like  birds,  in  a  snare.  For  the  king's 
troops  were  close  upon  them,  and  the  clatter  of 
their  hoofs  rang  loud  and  clear.  Another  minute 
and  they  galloped  in  hot  haste  upon  the  quay. 

"  This  way,"  whispered  Dunstan,  refusing  to 
be  taken. 

"  No,  this  way,  rather,"  answered  Oslac,  taking 
126 


THE     MENDIPS     TO     THE     SEA 

the  Saint  by  the  gown.     "  We  can  pass  through 
and  escape  them  still." 

And  Oslac  led  Dunstan  into  the  shade  of  a 
neighboring  tavern.  They  entered  and  passed 
hurriedly  through.  Three  guests  rose  to  give 
them  welcome.  But  they  placed  their  fingers  to 
their  lips  and  passed  on. 

"  A  strange  pair ! "  muttered  the  tavern- 
keeper. 

But  they  had  gone  before  he  could  impede 
them. 

Passing  through  the  tavern-yard,  they  found 
themselves  in  some  open  fields,  and  halted  a  mo- 
ment to  determine  their  bearing.  The  angry 
voices  of  the  baffled  troops  came  to  them  through 
the  crisp  air.  A  moment  only  they  waited,  then 
pressed  on  with  frantic,  eager  zeal. 

Taking  a  long  circuit,  they  made  for  the 
woodlands  beyond  Clifton,  on  the  shore  of  the 
sea,  hoping  there  to  hide  themselves  a  time  and 
finally  escape  by  hailing  some  passing  ship.  On 
they  pressed,  with  rising  hopes,  and  climbed  the 
heights  of  Clifton.  But  on  the  downs  they  heard 
again  the  clatter  of  the  king's  troops  in  hot  pur- 
suit. And  they  cursed  their  evil  fortune. 
127 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

On  they  scampered  across  the  downs  as  fast 
as  their  limbs  would  carry  them. 

On,  on,  the  king's  troops  coming  nearer  and 
nearer. 

On,  till  they  dimly  saw  the  woodlands  in  front, 
and  heard  the  panting  of  the  steeds  behind. 

On,  till  they  leaped  into  the  darkness  of  the 
wood,  just  as  the  bent  figures  of  the  royal  troops 
could  be  darkly  discerned  rising  in  their  sad- 
dles. 

"  Dismount !  After  them  and  seize  them !  " 
cried  the  clear  voice  of  Eadmund. 

A  loud  mocking  laugh  answered  him  from  the 
darkness  of  the  wood. 

"  This  way,"  shouted  Eadmund.  "  We  are 
sure  to  grip  them  now !  " 

But  Dunstan  felt  he  was  safe. 

Pushing  through  the  darkness  and  the  thick 
underwood,  the  fugitives  lighted  on  a  narrow  foot- 
path, and  struck  along  it  eagerly  a  full  mile. 
Then  they  left  the  beaten  way,  and  took  to  the 
thick  brushwood  again,  and  bent  down  toward  the 
sea.  A  mist  rose  from  the  river  and  added  to  the 
darkness.  The  farther  they  advanced,  the  thicker 
grew  the  mist,  till  they  could  scarce  see  each  other 
128 


THE     MENDIPS     TO     THE     SEA 

a  yard  apart.     They  thanked  God  and  took  great 
heart. 

They  halted  a  minute  and  listened.  No  sound 
of  their  pursuers  could  be  heard.  They  joined 
hands,  and  pressed  forward  again,  fearing  to  lose 
each  other  in  the  thick  darkness. 

On,  till  they  heard  the  music  of  water  lapping 
the  shore. 

On,  hand  in  hand  together,  till  they  advanced 
almost  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  stumbled  and 
fell  headlong  into  a  deep  hollow  overlaid  with 
rushes. 

They  gathered  themselves  together,  greatly 
shaken  but  little  the  worse,  and  set  out  to  explore 
the  hollow.  A  big  hole,  some  seven  or  eight  feet 
long  by  four  or  five  feet  wide,  they  discovered  it 
was  only  a  crack  in  the  bank  on  the  wood's  edge, 
right  by  the  river's  side.  They  could  hear  the  trip 
of  the  water  as  it  flowed  to  the  sea,  and  they  could 
dimly  see  the  flicker  of  a  light,  now  and  then,  as 
if  of  some  passing  bark. 

"  Quite  a  godsend,  Oslac.  The  very  place  to 
hide  ourselves." 

"  Aye.     But   it  might  have   introduced  itself 
with  less  imposing  ceremony,"  answered  Oslac. 
129 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

All  night  long  they  lay  huddled  together, 
covered  by  the  rushes.  Again  and  again  they 
were  conscious  of  passing  footsteps.  And  again 
and  again  they  heard  voices  calling,  and  faint 
sounds  of  answering  cries.  But  they  dared  not 
move,  and  feared  much  that  even  now  they  would 
be  taken.  Their  hearts  beat  loudly  and  prayed 
for  the  dawn. 

At  length,  after  weary  waiting  and  endless 
scares,  rosy-fingered  dawn  appeared,  and  the  mist 
rolled  away.  Then,  cautiously  lifting  his  head 
above  the  rushes,  Oslac  looked  along  the  shore.  He 
whistled  a  low,  shrill  note  of  surprise,  and  sank 
to  the  side  of  Dunstan. 

"  Caught  like  rats  in  a  trap,"  he  whispered. 

For  sentries  of  the  king's  guard  were  posted 
right  along  the  shore. 


130 


CHAPTER    XVII 

A    CORACLE    AND    A    SKULL 

ALL  day  long  Dunstan  and  Oslac  clung  to 
their  hiding-place  with  much  fear.  Again  and 
again  the  royal  sentries  marched  past  them,  so 
that  they  could  almost  touch  their  long  spears, 
and  many  times  they  came  and  stood  right  in 
front  of  the  hollow.  The  abbot  held  his  breath 
and  trembled. 

Twice  during  the  day  a  ship  glided  down  the 
stream  with  sails  set.  Twice  the  fugitives  came 
to  the  edge  of  their  retreat  and  cast  eager  eyes 
to  sea.  But  the  royal  sentries  kept  eager  watch. 

In  constant  fear  and  hazard,  the  long  day 
passed  and  night  descended. 

"  Might  the  darkness  bring  escape ! "  they 
prayed. 

But  the  sentries  redoubled  their  watch. 

Thus  till  midnight — the  hearts  of  the  fugitives 
slowly  sinking. 

Then  they  were  stirred  by  a  light  in  the  river, 
131 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

the  moan  of  a  beast  in  pain,  and  sound  of  row- 
ing. They  strained  their  eyes  and  stood  alert. 
The  light  glided  swiftly  toward  the  shore.  They 
opened  their  mouths  in  terror.  It  was  a  lighted 
skull  on  the  prow  of  a  coracle!  And  the  coracle 
came  straight  toward  their  covert  and  grounded 
itself,  with  a  loud  grating  noise,  only  a  few  yards 
from  their  hiding. 

Instantly  an  old  man,  clad  in  long  flowing 
robes  of  white,  leaped  on  shore.  He  listened  a 
moment,  then  lifted  something  white  from  the 
coracle  and  advanced  toward  their  hiding.  In 
his  left  hand  was  the  lighted  skull,  held  weirdly 
aloft,  while  with  his  right  hand  he  drove  a  milk- 
white  calf  before  him. 

"  The  priest  of  Woden ! "  gasped  Dunstan. 

Immediately  the  old  priest  halted.  He  turned 
the  lighted  skull  all  round,  and  let  it  fall  on  their 
covert.  He  placed  his  hand  to  his  ear  and  lis- 
tened, then  stroked  the  milk-white  bull  and  drove 
it  hurriedly  into  the  dark  wood. 

"Thank  God!"  breathed  Oslac,  as  the  old 
priest's  receding  footsteps  fell  on  their  ears. 

And  a  minute  later  they  heard  the  feet  of  the 
royal  guards  following. 

132 


A     CORACLE     AND     A     SKULL 

The  old  priest  drove  his  milk-white  calf  to  an 
open  circle  in  the  midst  of  the  wood.  He  placed 
the  lighted  skull  right  in  the  center  and  tied  the 
white  calf  to  an  old  oak-tree.  He  made  a  gar- 
land of  leaves  and  built  a  rough  stone  altar  and 
adorned  it  with  branches  of  oak. 

Then  he  came  to  the  lighted  skull  and  lifted  it 
and  made  with  it  a  great  circle  of  light,  singing 
the  while  a  low,  weird  litany.  Anon,  muttering 
incantations,  strange  and  many,  he  placed  himself 
in  the  center  of  the  circle  of  light,  and  made  with 
the  lighted  skull  endless  configurations,  mysterious 
and  tortuous.  Slowly  he  wrought  with  the  lighted 
skull  an  intricate  series  of  symbols  of  light  upon 
the  dark-green  sward,  and  solemnly  prostrated 
himself  many  times.  And  then  he  lifted  his  eyes 
to  the  stars  and  sang  again  his  low,  weird  litany, 
and  bowed  himself  to  the  ground  in  rapt  and  rev- 
erent worship. 

Anon  he  took  from  the  girdle  a  knife  of  gold, 
and  went  to  the  old  oak-tree  and  took  a  flowing 
white  robe  and  laid  it  at  the  root  of  the  tree. 
Then  he  climbed  the  oak,  and  with  the  knife  of 
gold  cut  a  clump  of  mistletoe  with  great  form  and 
ceremony.  And  he  lifted  the  mistletoe  and  flung 
133 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

it  on  to  the  flowing  white  robe  and  slowly  de- 
scended. 

Then  he  kindled  a  fire  in  the  midst  of  the 
circle  of  light  and  took  the  milk-white  calf  and 
slew  it,  and  laid  it  on  the  rude  stone  altar.  And 
its  blood  dyed  the  greensward. 

And  he  took  the  berries  of  the  mistletoe  and 
put  them  in  a  pouch  in  his  girdle  beside  the  blood- 
stained knife  of  gold.  And  then  he  lifted  the 
lighted  skull  again  and  took  a  glowing  ember 
from  the  fire  and  placed  it  in  the  skull,  and 
raised  it,  with  his  eyes  toward  the  stars,  and 
wailed  his  low,  weird  litany. 

"  Prepare  to  take  him  now,"  whispered  Ead- 
mund  to  the  guard. 

Immediately  the  old  priest  started.  He  stood 
erect  and  listened.  Then  muttered — 

The  Weird  is  at  hand, 
So  near  that  she  might 
Lay  hold  of  the  doomed. 

He  placed  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  terror.  Then  he  turned,  uttered  a 
shrill,  despairing  cry,  and  darted  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wood. 

"Stay!"  shouted  Eadmund. 
134 


A     CORACLE     AND     A     SKULL 

And  a  score  of  the  king's  guard  barred  the 
old  priest's  progress. 

"Whither   away,    friend?" 

The  old  priest  sank  to  his  knees,  and  the  look 
of  terror  left  his  face. 

"  Methought  ye  were  the  enemy  of  the  river's 
side,"  he  answered. 

"  What  enemy  ?  "  asked  Eadmund. 

"  The  priests  of  the  new  God,  the  Christ,  who 
came  a  stranger  to  our  land  and  now  rules  the 
world  of  men,  whose  servants  fight  and  kill  the 
worshipers  of  Woden." 

"  Where  saw  thou  such?  " 

"  Hiding  in  the  hollow  by  the  river's  side." 

"  Lead  us  to  them  then,  and  thou  shalt  have 
thy  freedom." 

"My  freedom?"  he  ejaculated  in  surprise. 

"  Aye,  and  the  king's  thanks." 

"Praise  be  to  Woden,"  he  cried.     "Come!" 

At  that  moment  a  loud  shout  rent  the  air, 
and  answering  voices  reechoed  through  the  wood. 
And  the  old  priest  led  them  swiftly  toward  the 
river's  side. 

When  Dunstan  and  Oslac  heard  the  feet  of 
the  guards  in  the  wake  of  the  priest  of  Woden, 
135 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

they  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  They  stood 
up  and  stretched  themselves  joyously,  and  the 
fresh,  free  air  tasted  sweet. 

There  was  no  mist,  and  through  the  darkness 
they  could  see  the  stars  gleaming  in  the  water, 
while  away  up  the  river  another  light  flickered 
fitfully  and  glided  slowly  down  the  stream. 

"  A  ship !  "   cried  Dunstan. 

And  Oslac  laughed  with  glee. 

"  Thou  wilt  come  on  board,"  said  Dunstan, 
"  and  we  shall  drop  thee  farther  down  the  stream. 
Then  wilt  thou  be  free  to  work  our  will.  Re- 
member! She  shall  be  thine  when  he  is  no  more. 
Dream  of  her  loveliness,  think  of  her  caresses,  and 
fear  not.  Dunstan  will  reward  thee.  The  bark  of 
opportunity  sails  along  thy  sea  once  more.  If  thou 
wouldst  steer  thy  life  to  fortune,  leap  on  board 
and  seize  the  golden  helm  and  point  it  whither 
Dunstan  tells  thee.  Make  straight  to  Odo,  and 
call  on  him  to  launch  the  Church  against  the 
erring  throne.  Sail  then  to  the  north,  and  open 
the  flood-gates  of  the  Danes.  And  amid  the  rush 
of  waters  thy  bark  will  reach  the  shining  bay. 
Dunstan  trusts  thee  now.  To-morrow  he  may 
crown  thee !  Swear,  Oslac !  " 
136 


A     CORACLE     AND     A     SKULL 

And  standing  on  the  river  bank  beneath  the 
stars  of  night,  Oslac  lifted  up  his  hands  to  God 
and  swore. 

"  Ship  ahoy !  "  hailed  Dunstan. 

"  Well,  well?  "  came  the  answer,  as  the  bark 
glided  past  them. 

"  Stay  and  take  us  on  board,  and  thou  shalt 
have  a  bag  of  gold." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir !  " 

And  in  a  twinkling  the  rudder  was  turned, 
and  the  ship's  sails  flapped  loosely  in  the  wind. 

"Hark!"   cried  Oslac. 

And  he  strained  his  ear  toward  the  wood. 

"  They  are  returning !  Into  the  coracle, 
quick !  " 

And  they  ran  swiftly  toward  the  water's  edge, 
and  leaped  into  the  coracle  and  lifted  the  paddle 
and  pushed  from  the  shore. 

A  minute  later  the  lighted  skull  appeared 
above  the  hollow. 

"  Gone !  "  cried  the  old  priest.     «  Look !  " 

And  he  held  the  skull  aloft. 

Away  down  the  stream  they  looked,  and  saw 
through  the  darkness  the  dim  outline  of  the  cor- 
acle steering  straight  toward  the  waiting  ship. 
10 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"Shoot!"  cried  Eadmund. 

And  a  hundred  arrows  flew  across  the  waters. 

"  Farewell !  "  came  a  voice  from  the  darkness. 
"  Go  and  tell  your  royal  master  Dunstan  will 
return  and  wreak  his  vengeance.  Then  woe  to 
Eadwine !  Farewell !  " 

And  loud  above  the  noise  of  the  paddle  rose 
the  laughter  of  the  Saint. 

Then  the  coracle  swept  to  the  side  of  the  bark, 
the  sails  filled,  and  the  ship  glided  out  to  sea. 


138 


BOOK  THE   SECOND 

* 


139 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE    CRADLE    OF    CHRIST 

THREE  hours  after  the  events  related  in  our 
last  chapter  a  young  monk  looked  from  the  win- 
dow of  a  Bristol  tavern  and  gazed  upon  a  com- 
pany of  the  royal  guard  quarreling  without. 
Their  rage,  and  that  of  Eadmund  especially,  when 
they  spake  of  how  the  Saint  had  escaped  them, 
made  a  merry  sight  for  the  gloating  eyes  of 
Oslac. 

In  the  hands  of  the  young  monk  the  commands 
of  Dunstan  were  safe.  His  hatred  of  Eadwine 
was  second  only  to  the  abbot's,  and  cried  with  a 
strong  voice  for  action,  SAvift  and  decisive.  He 
would  be  satisfied  only  when  Elgiva  had  been 
forced  from  the  king  or  Eadwine  had  been  driven 
from  the  throne.  His  passion  for  the  queen  was 
so  masterful,  and  his  sense  of  virtue  so  feeble,  that 
it  scarce  mattered  which  to  him. 

Come  what  may,  the  heart  that  panted  for 
Elgiva  must  be  quieted. 

141 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

What  though  he  stroked  her  beautiful  face 
with  hands  stained  with  blood?  He  loved  her 
blindly,  with  all  the  strength  of  a  passionate  na- 
ture, and  would  count  all  things  as  naught  to 
win  her  love.  Had  not  he  endured  the  lonely  life 
of  a  monk  and  held  himself  in  check  at  Dunstan's 
bidding,  in  the  hope  held  out  by  him  of  winning 
her  by  and  by?  With  Elgiva,  beautiful  in  soul 
and  face,  he  might  even  be  good. 

Dunstan's  banishment  did  not  disconcert  the 
hopes  of  Oslac.  It  seemed  rather  to  bring  him 
nearer  the  goal  of  his  desire.  Like  the  men  of  his 
time,  his  faith  in  the  subtle  brain  of  the  cunning 
chancellor  to  find  a  way  from  seeming  ruin  to 
ultimate  victory  was  strong  and  deep.  The  strife 
could  only  end,  he  fancied,  in  favor  of  the  Church. 
What  could  the  youthful,  inexperienced  king  do 
against  the  craft  of  old  and  practised  prelates? 
How  could  he  cope  with  a  foe  that  would  out- 
number him  on  field  of  battle  and  out-maneuver 
him  in  strategy?  The  thought  fanned  Oslac's 
zeal  and  swelled  the  hope  that  even  yet  he  would 
embrace  the  beautiful  Elgiva. 

The  dream  that  rose  before  his  eyes  was  gazed 
on  long  and  lustily.  Had  not  the  crafty  abbot 
142 


THE     CRADLE     OF     CHRIST 

bathed  it  in  colored  lights  of  passing  glory? 
"  Dunstan  trusts  thee  now.  To-morrow  he  may 
crown  thee ! "  No  claim  to  the  throne  had  Oslac, 
and  others  beside  Eadwine  stood  in  the  way.  But 
had  not  Dunstan  promised,  and  would  not  he  per- 
form? Then  Elgiva  would  be  queen — a  second 
time!  She  would  sit  at  his  feet,  and  call  him 
"king"!  He  would  cover  her  neck  with  jewels 
and  rouse  the  envy  of  the  gods ! 

"  On  board,  Oslac,  on  board !  Haste  and  away 
for  the  golden  strand!  The  counsel  of  Dunstan 
will  guide  thy  bark  from  the  troubled  waters  to 
the  shining  bay !  The  flood-rush  of  the  Danes 
will  carry  it  high  up  the  golden  shore!  Then? 
Elgiva  and  the  crown !  " 

Thus  dreaming,  Oslac  leaped  into  his  saddle 
and  set  out  for  the  holy  city  of  Canterbury. 

It  was  Christmas  eve  when  he  rode  over  the 
downs  and  came  to  the  city.  The  angels  were 
out  with  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  their  song  was 
floating  over  the  plain — song  heard  new  in  every 
land  by  men  watching  and  keeping  the  night- 
watches  of  heaven :  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
and  on  earth  peace  to  men  and  good-will."  The 
brightness  of  God  shone  round  about  Oslac,  but 
143 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

he  feared  not  with  a  great  fear,  beheld  not  the 
glory,  and  heard  not  the  praise  of  the  heavenly 
host  proclaiming  once  again  the  saving  mystery 
of  the  Manger-Child.  Instead  he  saw,  or  fancied 
he  saw,  though  now  it  was  black  night,  the  gilded 
dawn  of  Dunstan's  dream  creeping  over  the  tow- 
ers of  Canterbury  and  crimsoning  his  life  with 
love  and  splendor. 

A  service  was  proceeding  when  Oslac  arrived. 
The  great  church  rose  out  of  the  darkness  full  of 
light  and  praise.  The  spacious  choir  was  filled 
with  worshipers  glorifying  the  God  of  Peace,  as 
he  entered,  breathing  the  breath  of  war.  He 
seated  himself  and  listened.  The  words  of  a  well- 
known  psalm  were  being  chanted :  "  O  praise  the 
Lord,  all  ye  nations':  praise  him,  all  ye  peoples. 
For  his  mercy  is  confirmed  upon  us,  and  the 
truth  of  the  Lord  remaineth  for  ever."  Psalm 
cxvii,  Laudate  Dominum. 

Then  the  puckered  primate  rose  in  vestments 
of  silken  splendor  and  proclaimed  to  all  the  evan- 
gel of  peace.  Not  a  few  heard  it  gladly  and  saw 
the  glory  again.  Joseph  once  more  went  up 
from  Galilee  out  of  the  city  of  Nazareth  unto 
Judea,  to  the  city  of  David,  which  is  called  Beth- 
144 


THE     CRADLE     OF     CHRIST 

lehem,  with  Mary  his  espoused  wife,  great  with 
child.  The  shepherds  once  more  came  with  haste, 
and  found  Mary  and  Joseph,  and  the  babe  lying 
in  a  manger.  And  when  they  had  seen  it,  they 
understood  the  word  that  had  been  spoken  to  them 
concerning  the  child.  And  all  that  heard  it 
wondered. 

But  Oslac  smiled  as  he  listened  to  the  story. 
A  pretty  fancy  simply  indulged,  thought  he,  laid 
to  heart  by  weak  and  beaten  men  ready  to  place 
their  faith  in  any  tale  that  offers  ease  or  com- 
fort! To  him  it  seemed  absurd  that  God  should 
manifest  himself  in  any  shape  or  form,  or  con- 
tribute aught  to  the  weal  or  woe  of  men.  Was 
not  God  content  to  dwell  in  his  heaven?  In  any 
case,  "  Give  him  power,  the  beautiful  Elgiva,  and 
the  crown  now  worn  by  Eadwine,  and  he  would 
risk  his  weal  against  the  powers  of  hell  and 
heaven ! " 

So  thought  Oslac  in  sound  of  Bethlehem's 
bells,  while  shepherds  wondered,  and  Mary  kept 
the  words,  pondering  them  in  her  heart!  So  said 
he,  while  the  worshiping  host  glorified  God  for 
the  things  they  had  heard  and  seen! 

The  service  over,  he  wended  his  way  to  the 
145 


THE     SINS     OP     A     SAINT 

primate's  chamber.  Odo  started,  and  lifted  high 
his  wrinkled  brows  as  he  entered.  Tidings  from 
Glastonbury  were  always  exciting. 

"Ho,  Oslac,  what  cheer?" 

"  Cheer  that  calls  the  Church  to  action." 

"  In  good  cause  her  holy  men  neither  faint 
nor  grow  weary.  What  news  ?  " 

"  News  that  throws  Holy  Church  in  peril  and 
strikes  at  her  growing  power." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean?  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  'Tis  not  only  what  has  happened,  but  what 
will  happen  soon." 

"  Out  with  it  then !  Is  the  world  turning  up- 
side down?  Has  the  lamp  of  God  gone  out  for- 
ever? " 

"  No,  but  Dunstan  has  been  turned  out  of 
England!" 

"  By  whom  ?  "  the  primate  quickly  queried. 

"  Eadwine,  the  Saxon  king,"  subtly  answered 
Oslac. 

"  The  untamed  cub !  "  cried  the  Dane.  "  But 
how?" 

The  subtlety  had  gripped  his  heart. 

"  Driven  by  troops  sent  by  Eadwine  with 
146 


THE     CRADLE     OF     CHRIST 

orders  to  slay  the  abbot,  having  first  put  out 
his  eyes.  Forced  to  flee  from  Glastonbury,  he 
scarce  escaped  alive.  Hunted,  like  a  fox  by 
the  royal  hounds,  he  ran  till  he  took  the  water 
at  Brystyngestowe,  and  went  for  hiding  to 
Flanders." 

"  By  God,  and  that  is  news,"  panted  the  pri- 
mate, as  he  paced  the  floor  with  great  excitement. 
His  puckered  face  twitched  with  nervous  eager- 
ness, his  bead-like  eyes  started  and  flashed,  while 
his  whole  frame  quivered  with  passion. 

"  And  he  bade  me  tell  thee  'tis  the  foul  queen's 
doing,"  went  on  Oslac,  well  pleased  with  the  pri- 
mate's anger. 

"  Haste  thee,  Oslac,"  cried  the  holy  abbot, 
"  haste  thee  to  the  venerable  Odo,  and  rouse  the 
people,  that  Holy  Church  may  punish  the  offend- 
ers. Bid  him  prick  the  vanity  of  the  king,  lay 
his  pride  low,  and  tear  the  beauty  from  his 
arms." 

"It  shall  be,"  shouted  Odo.  "It  shall  be. 
We  shall  tame  the  young  cub  and  wound  him 
sore.  We  shall  make  him  feel  the  power  of  Holy 
Church.  We  shall  teach  him  to  obey  and  purge 
his  sin  with  penance.  We  shall  pluck  the  sullied 
147 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

lily  from  the  throne  and  hurl  it  from  the  land. 
Then  what  of  the  pride  of  the  Saxon  kiilg?  What 
of  the  wrath  of  his  queen  ?  " 

Oslac  answered  not,  but  waited  till  the  whirl- 
ing brain  of  the  Danish  primate  brought  forth 
his  scheme  of  vengeance. 

"  'Tis  an  insult  we  can  not  brook,  a  blow 
struck  at  our  power  to  be  returned  with  greater 
force.  His  spirit  must  be  broken.  I  tell  thee, 
Oslac,  methinks  'twill  come  to  war,  and  Holy 
Church  be  forced  to  fight  the  battle  of  her  Lord. 
To  make  strife  at  court  and  rouse  rebellion  in  the 
land  must  be  our  constant  aim.  To  stir  the  people 
and  proclaim  to  all  that  Holy  Church  must  be 
supreme,  must  be  the  effort  of  us  all.  What  think- 
est  thou,  Oslac?  " 

"  That  thou  speakest  bravely,  and  wisely  too, 
most  noble  Odo,  even  as  Dunstan  when  the  hounds 
panted  at  his  heels !  " 

"  Then,  on  the  morrow,  thou  must  get  thee  to 
Eadgar,  and  tell  him  Holy  Church  demands  his 
sword.  Say  to  him  if  Eadwine  fall,  his  head  shall 
wear  the  crown.  Urge  him,  by  the  pomp  of  power 
and  vanity  of  earthly  throne,  to  make  speed  and 
rouse  the  north,  and  issue  forth  to  battle  for 
148 


THE     CRADLE     OF     CHRIST 

*  Christ  and  Holy  Church.'  Make  sure  that  he 
obeys." 

"  On  the  morrow,  as  thou  commandest,"  an- 
swered Oslac,  uplifted  with  the  prospect. 

"  And  our  messengers  will  see  to  it  not  a  stone 
is  left  unturned  south  of  the  Thames.  Then  woe 
to  the  king  of  the  Saxon  realm  and  his  harlot- 
queen  ! "  . 

So,  on  the  morrow,  while  the  Day  of  Peace  was 
yet  young  and  scarce  had  lost  its  crimson  blushes, 
Oslac  leaped  into  his  saddle  once  again  and  rode 
away  laden  with  the  mandate  of  war. 


149 


CHAPTER    XIX 

A    DREAM    OF    SILK    AND    PURPLE 

THE  errand  on  which  Oslac  found  himself  was 
pleasing  to  his  mind.  The  action  of  the  primate 
was  all  his  heart  desired.  The  notorious  Odo,  he 
well  knew,  would  not  rest  now  till  Eadwine  put 
away  the  queen  and  humbled  himself  before  the 
Church  or  was  swept  from  the  throne.  The  pros- 
pect of  either  was  pleasing  to  Oslac.  No  matter 
that  Odo  had  thought  only  of  Eadgar  as  Ead- 
wine's  successor.  Had  not  Dunstan  said :  "  Dun- 
stan  trusts  thee  now.  To-morrow  he  may  crown 
thee "  ?  And  were  there  not  ways  of  bringing 
that  about?  Would  Eadgar  be  able  to  stand  in 
the  day  of  battle? 

With  a  merry  heart  Oslac  rode  away  to  Mer- 
cia.  If  only  Eadgar  could  be  induced  to  revolt 
and  open  the  flood-gates  of  the  north,  his  bark 
would  rush  amid  the  waters  into  the  shining  bay 
and  run  high  up  on  the  golden  strand !  But  would 
150 


SILK     AND     PURPLE 

Eadgar  revolt  and  lead  the  Mercians  and  Danes 
against  the  fair  king? 

Once  his  love  for  Eadwine  was  greater  than 
his  love  of  dress  and  vanity.  Would  it  prove  so 
now?  Or  would  the  taste  of  power  and  splendor 
in  Mercia  make  him,  as  Dunstan  fondly  hoped, 
long  for  more? 

Power  and  splendor  the  vain  prince  loved, 
and  with  these  baits,  therefore,  Oslac  would  tempt 
him.  Dreams  of  silk  and  purple,  gold  and  glit- 
tering gems,  the  monk  resolved  to  place  before 
his  victim's  eyes.  And  if  the  dream  lured  Eadgar 
to  his  doom,  then  would  Oslac's  shoulders  wear  the 
silk  and  purple,  and  his  head  the  crown  of  gold! 
His  eyes  filled  with  pride  as  he  gazed  on  himself 
in  the  glory  of  his  dream  and  beheld,  above  all, 
the  lovely  form  of  the  beautiful  Elgiva. 

With  the  dying  of  the  year  Oslac  came  to  the 
court  of  Eadgar.  The  fire  burned  in  the  hall 
while  the  wintry  storm  raged  without.  Upon  a 
dais,  amid  his  nobles  at  the  festal  board,  the  young 
prince  sate  perfumed  and  jeweled.  He  was  gay 
with  the  outward  emblems  of  royalty,  resplendent 
with  a  purple  robe,  and  crowned  with  a  coronet 
that  rested  on  his  long  flaxen  tresses  plaited  as 
151 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

ever  with  shining  gold.  Round  his  waist  was  a 
silken  belt  richly  studded  with  gems,  while  by  his 
side  hung  a  Saxon  sword  in  a  scabbard  of  gold. 
Of  inordinate  vanity  and  love  of  splendor,  his  fair 
but  womanish  face,  weak  and  sensual,  showed  he 
had  not  yet  learned  to  hold  the  scepter  of  his  heart. 

Through  the  open  doors  of  the  banquet-hall, 
frank  signals  of  Saxon  hospitality,  birds  were  fly- 
ing from  the  storm.  By  one  of  them  Oslac  en- 
tered, covered  with  snow,  and  scarce  concealed  his 
smile  of  contempt  as  he  looked  upon  the  vain 
prince  in  all  his  glory. 

"  A  song !  A  song ! "  cried  the  nobles  as  he 
entered.  "  A  song  from  the  oldest  minstrel." 

"  Yea,  a  song,"  simpered  Eadgar. 

In  response,  an  old  and  white-haired  minstrel 
rose,  struck  his  harp  with  fingers  that  long  had 
swept  the  strings,  and  sang  this  plaintive  ballad: 

Once  in  western  Fen-land 
Lived  a  doughty  princeling, 
Near  the  vale  Avalon 
Hallowed  now  by  Joseph. 
Sorrow-laden  was  his  heart, 
For  that  he  had  gotten 
Troubles  many-edged 
Biting  at  his  vitals. 

152 


SILK     AND     PURPLE 

Rough  were  all  the  billows 
Of  the  flowing  river ; 
Slowly  wailed  the  waters 
Rolling  on  the  shingle ; 
Cold  the  freezing  North  wind 
Swept  across  the  valley, 
Blowing  out  heaven's  candles, 
Waking  up  the  Spirits, 
Mocking  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Then  of  all  a  sudden 
Silent  grew  the  billows, 
Eastward  rose  pale  Luna, 
Beacon  bright  of  God, 
Showing  to  the  princeling 
Far-off  windy  rock-walls. 
And,  of  wonders  greatest, 
Floating  in  the  river 
Face  upturned  to  Heaven, 
Maid  of  piercing  brightness, 
Beautiful  and  dazzling, 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Roused  him  from  his  sorrow 
To  behold  the  wonder, 
Floating  in  the  river, 
Glowing  in  the  water. 
Swift  she  floated  toward  him 
Like  a  whited  spectre 
Shining  bright  and  weird-like, 
Lighting  all  the  darkness, 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

11  153 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Swiftly  swam  the  princeling 
Down  the  shining  river, 
Making  for  the  maiden 
Bright  and  burning  wonder. 
All  his  might  he  wrestled 
With  the  glowing  water, 
Seeking  hard  to  reach  her 
Smiling  sweet  upon  him, 
Wooing  with  her  eyelids, 
Lighted  with  a  glory 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Silently  she  floated 
Down  the  shining  river, 
Till  they  reached  a  rock-wall 
Lit  with  heavenly  light. 
There  her  lips  were  opened, 
And  a  song  she  sang  him, 
With  a  voice  of  honey, 
Laden  with  delight, 
Sweetly  sang  of  gladness 
In  a  Land  of  Beauty 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Down  here  is  my  dwelling, 
Underneath  this  rock-wall, 
In  a  mighty  cavern, 
Where  are  all  my  treasures, 
Passing  wealth  of  man. 
Follow  me,  brave  princeling, 
Deep  down  through  the  waters, 
Till  we  reach  the  splendor. 

154 


SILK     AND     PURPLE 

There  in  love  and  gladness 
We  shall  pass  the  ages 
In  a  glory  dazzling, 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Deep  down  through  the  waters 
Dived  the  gallant  princeling, 
Following  the  maiden 
Clad  in  robes  of  light. 
Deep  down  through  the  waters, 
Swimming  fast,  and  wrestling 
With  the  glowing  surge, 
Till  he  reached  the  cavern 
In  the  windy  rock-wall 
All  ablaze  with  light. 

Wonder  upon  wonder 
Lay  in  splendor  round  him, 
Gold  and  glittering  jewels, 
Vessels  of  old  time. 
And,  of  wonders  greatest, 
Banners,  all  engoldened, 
Woven  round  with  magic, 
Gleaming  all  with  light, 
Beautiful  and  mystic, 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Long  upon  the  maiden 
Gazed  the  gallant  princeling, 
Smiling  sweet  upon  him 
Shining  weird  and  bright. 
Long  upon  the  treasure, 
155 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

And  the  mystic  Banners, 
Woven  round  with  magic, 
Gleaming  passing  bright. 
But,  as  he  did  touch  her, 
Darkness  fell  around  him, 
Darkness  full  of  fright. 

Then  of  all  a  sudden 
Changed  the  smiling  maiden, 
And  the  shining  treasure 
Turned  to  ash  and  dust, 
Gaunt  and  creeping  monsters, 
Skulls  and  dead-men's  bones, 
Covered  all  with  weird-light, 
Pale  and  phosphorescent, 
Mocking  e'en  the  moonlight. 

Wherefore,  all  ye  nobles, 
Learn  ye  well  this  lesson  : 
Life  is  such  a  dream, 
Full  of  many  sorrows 
None  on  earth  can  lighten, 
Gold  and  glittering  jewels 
Tempting  men  and  princes, 
Turning  soon  to  ashes, 
Gaunt  and  creeping  monsters, 
Skulls,  and  dead-men's  bones. 

So,  resist  the  evil, 
Though  adown  the  river 
Luring  floats  a  maiden 
Beautiful,  and  dazzling, 
Paling  e'en  the  moonlight. 

156 


SILK     AND     PURPLE 

The  cheers  that  greeted  the  white-haired  min- 
strel's song  had  scarce  died  away,  when  Oslac, 
clad  in  Benedictine  garb  and  covered  with  melting 
snow,  showed  himself  to  Eadgar. 

"  Room  for  Holy  Church,"  the  princeling 
cried,  with  move  of  scented  hand. 

"  The  Son  of  Mary's  peace  be  on  you  all,"  an- 
swered the  monk  of  Glastonbury. 

"  Oslac's  voice !  Yea,  Oslac's  face !  Welcome, 
Oslac.  I  had  nigh  forgotten  thee.  'Tis  long  now 
since  we  met,  not  since  that  bright  May-day  long 
ago  when  we  danced  around  the  May-pole  with 
Elgiva.  Dost  thou  remember  her,  being  now  a 
monk?  Nay,  frown  not  so:  we  spake  in  jest  and 
meant  to  win  thy  smile.  But  what  thy  coming? 
Art  thou  a  messenger  sent  of  Holy  Church?  And 
is  it  peace?  "  : 

"  A  messenger  of  war  and  not  of  peace  am  I, 
sent  to  sound  the  trump  of  battle  in  the  name  of 
Holy  Church,  and  to  hold  this  lighted  cross  before 
the  prince's  eyes  and  those  of  all  his  nobles." 

"  Ho,  what  now  ?  "  together  cried  the  nobles 
and  the  prince. 

"  He  hath  driven  Dunstan  from  the  land  and 
holds  still  to  the  beauty  against  Odo's  commands. 
157 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

His  sin  cries  out  to  heaven  and  foully  taints  the 
people.  The  Church  must  needs  enforce  her  laws, 
even  on  the  king,  and  calls  you  now  to  fight  her 
battle  and  sweep  him  from  the  throne." 

"  And  if  Eadwine  fall  in  battle?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Odo,  "  Eadgar,  princeling  now 
of  Mercia,  will  be  king  of  all  the  realm !  Then  will 
Mercia  be  honored  much  and  the  brave  Danes  of 
the  north  enter  into  freedom." 

The  cheer  that  greeted  these  words  moved 
Oslac  to  proceed  to  storm  the  hearts  of  the  no- 
bles, with  much  hope. 

"'Tell  the  nobles  all,'  cried  Odo,  'Holy 
Church  will  reward  them  well  when  they  have 
driven  the  foul  queen  from  the  land.  Tell  my 
fellow-Danes  a  kinsman  calls  them  to  the  battle 
who  will  fight  for  them,  as  fought  he  has  in  the 
court  of  England's  king.'  '  Tell  them  all,'  cried 
Dunstan,  as  the  ship  that  carried  him  to  exile 
sailed  away,  '  tell  them  all,  brave  men  of  the 
north,  jarls  and  ealdormen,  Dunstan  will  not 
forget  them  when  again  he  rules  the  realm.  Glory 
and  honor  will  be  given  to  those  who  turn  on  Ead- 
wine and  drive  him  from  the  throne ! '  " 

The  flashing  of  swords  and  clanging  of  spears 
158 


SILK     AND     PURPLE 

showed  Oslac  the  Danes  and  Anglo-Danes,  ready 
ever  to  strike  a  blow  at  the  Saxon  realm,  were 
won.  Smiling  broadly,  he  turned  from  them  to 
Eadgar,  amid  a  scene  of  growing  excitement.  The 
hand  of  the  prince  was  on  his  jeweled  hilt,  but 
hesitated  to  pluck  his  sword  from  scabbard  of  gold. 

"  What  the  treasures  of  the  mystic  cave,  O 
Eadgar,  to  the  silk  and  purple  of  England's  king? 
What  the  gold  and  glittering  gems  that  turned 
them  soon  to  dust  to  the  crown  that  awaits  thee, 
with  all  the  pageant  of  a  king's  court  and  the 
splendor  of  life?  'Tis  the  promise  of  Holy 
Church,  if  thou  wilt  fight  for  her.  Think !  Thou 
wilt  then  outrival  Athelstane  with  thy  beauty  and 
dress  and  grandeur !  " 

The  vain  prince  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
looked  upon  the  dream  Oslac  placed  before  his 
eyes,  and  fell. 

Merely  viceroy  of  the  north,  now  he  caught 
at  the  hope  of  independence  and  sprang  at  the 
bubbles  of  pleasure  and  power.  What  opportuni- 
ties for  glory  as  king  of  the  realm,  what  pageants 
and  titles,  what  silk  and  purple,  what  gold  and 
precious  gems !  The  dream  intoxicated  him  and 
made  him  greedily  grasp  at  the  cup  Oslac  held  up 
159 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

for  him.  What  matter  there  was  blood  in  it? 
War  and  death  are  nothing  to  a  man  in  such  a 
mood.  Out  from  that  golden  scabbard  sprang  his 
gleaming  sword.  High  above  his  head  he  waved 
it,  crying: 

"Long  live  the  Holy  Church!" 

"  Long  live  Eadgar,  our  king ! "  shouted 
Oslac,  waving  the  Benedictine  cowl. 

"  Long  live  the  king ! "  cried  the  nobles,  car- 
ried away,  clanging  their  spears  and  waving  their 
swords. 

Then  placing  Eadgar  on  a  shield,  they  carried 
him  round  the  hall,  shoulder-high,  lustily  shout- 
ing :  "  Long  live  the  king !  " 

Oslac's  heart  leaped  with  joy.  His  bark  was 
now  on  the  crest  of  the  wave  that  would  carry  him 
to  the  shining  bay  and  the  golden  strand !  Fool 
that  Eadgar  was  to  dream  of  silk  and  purple 
already  claimed  by  one  who  had  renounced  the 
world!  If  Eadwine  fell  in  battle,  Eadgar  also 
would  be  found  among  the  slain !  Then  would  the 
silk  and  purple  be  Oslac's,  and  the  beautiful  El- 
giva  his  fond  queen !  And  then  no  power  on  earth 
would  drive  him  from  his  throne ! 

So  cried  the  exulting  heart  of  Oslac. 
160 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE    SWORD    ON    THE    ALTAB 

PREPARING  for  battle,  yet  unsteady  and  un- 
certain in  his  mind,  Eadgar  came  to  Croyland  in 
secret,  to  win  the  counsel  of  Turketul.  The  brave 
old  chancellor,  no  longer  surrounded  only  by  three 
old  monks,  had  restored  the  fallen  fortunes  of  the 
monastery,  and  drawn  to  himself  many  saintly 
men  and  women,  world-weary  and  feeling  for  rest 
'in  prayer.  The  fire-scathed  walls  the  Danes  had 
left  behind  them,  as  they  swept  across  the  land, 
burning,  pillaging,  destroying,1  had  already  taken 

1  The  fen-country  was  the  scene  of  the  most  fearful  devasta- 
tions. Leaving  Bardney  Abbey  a  heap  of  smoking  ruins,  cov- 
ering the  mangled  remains  of  its  inmates,  the  invaders  passed 
to  Croyland.  Fugitives  announced  their  approach  soon  after 
midnight,  while  the  monks  were  performing  matins  ;  and  fires 
in  the  distant  horizon  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  confirmed 
the  south  of  the  tidings.  The  Superior  resolved  to  remain  at 
his  post  and  was  slain  at  the  altar ;  the  aged,  and  those  of  ten- 
der years,  who  could  neither  flee  nor  resist,  and  whose  appear- 
ance might  have  excited  compassion,  were  slaughtered  with 
the  exception  of  a  single  child  ;  the  stronger  part  of  the  com- 
munity found  a  hiding-place  in  the  neighboring  marsh,  from 
which  they  emerged  to  bury  the  dead,  and  attempt  to  extin- 

161 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

to  themselves  most  of  their  ancient  wealth  and 
beauty.  The  eyes  of  Eadgar  were  met  by  a  new 
and  ornate  abbey  as  he  walked  up  the  primrose 
way  that  led  to  the  grounds.  Would  Turketul 
help  him?  Would  the  old  warrior  cry  "peace" 
or  "  war  "?  Would  he  condone  his  brother's  fault 
or  rise  with  Holy  Church  and  demand  his  punish- 
ment? Or  would  he  champion  the  cause  of  love 
and  humanity? 

The  aggressive  policy  of  the  Church  found 
no  sympathy  at  Croyland.  A  loyal  subject  of  the 
king  and  country,  Turketul  looked  with  suspicion 
and  alarm  on  Rome's  untiring  efforts  to  subordi- 
nate the  temporal  to  the  spiritual  powers.  The 
coming  conflict  he  had  long  prophesied,  but  none 
the  less  was  it  painful  to  him.  The  wreck  of  the 
kingdom  it  foreshadowed  filled  the  old  veteran  with 
sorrow.  Had  not  he  fought  at  Brunanburh  for 
the  unity  and  independence  of  the  land? 

guish  the  conflagration  of  their  monastery,  as  soon  as  the  bar- 
barians had  retired.  The  storm  passed  on  to  Peterborough, 
and  was  there  more  fatal,  the  survivors  of  Croyland  having  to 
proceed  thither  to  deposit  the  bones  of  the  abbot  and  eighty- 
three  monks  in  a  common  grave,  none  being  left  on  the  spot  to 
perform  the  office.  Ely,  Thorney,  and  Ramsey  experienced  a 
similar  fate,  Date  866  A.  D. — Milner's  History  of  England, 
p.  79. 

162 


THE     SWORD     ON     THE     ALTAR 

The  notorious  Odo  he  specially  feared,  for  had 
not  he  once  before  proved  treacherous  to  his  sov- 
ereign and  urged  the  partition  of  the  realm  when 
Anlaf,  the  old,  beaten  tiger  of  Brunanburh,  re- 
turned to  the  country  in  Eadmund's  time?  Would 
not  he  do  so  again,  himself  a  Dane  in  favor  of 
the  Danes? 

The  heart  of  Turketul  feared  for  the  young 
king  and  scorned  the  pretense  for  strife. 

"  Nay,  my  child !  "  he  cried  to  Eadgar.  "  If 
thou  wouldst  win  the  kiss  of  God  thou  wilt  not 
put  thy  hand  to  such  a  task.  Since  first  the  fallen 
angels  rose  in  heaven  no  good  hath  come  of  rebel- 
lion. The  land  is  peaceful  and  prosperous.  Let 
it  remain  so." 

"But  what  of  Holy  Church?  "  asked  Eadgar, 
like  an  unstable  man  beginning  to  defend  the 
thing  denounced,  on  which  he  fancied  he  had 
need  of  counsel. 

"  The  Church  must  be  left  to  win  her  way  by 
deeds  of  love  and  mercy.  Not  of  this  world  is 
Christ's  kingdom,  else  there  would  have  helped 
him  legions  of  heaven.  The  Cross  loves  not  the 
sword  like  the  Crescent." 

"  But  he  has  sinned  against  the  Holy  Church." 
163 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Not  against  the  Holy  Father !  Elgiva,  as 
thou  dost  know,  is  no  harlot-queen,  but  beautiful 
in  life  as  in  form,  and  pure  as  Ethilda,  the  whitest 
nun  of  Croyland.  Canst  thou  cast  the  stone  at 
Eadwine?  " 

"  But  what  of  Dunstan? "  queried  Eadgar, 
wincing  under  the  question  of  the  white-haired 
abbot. 

"  To  my  influence  was  due  the  first  rise  at 
court  of  the  brilliant,  fair-haired  youth,  and  my 
love  he  ever  had,  till  power  made  him  giddy  and 
ambition  dimmed  his  eye.  Was  it  for  this  I  with- 
stood the  anger  of  the  nobles  and  pleaded  for  the 
youth?  Was  it  that  piety  might  be  choked  by  the 
growth  of  power,  and  honor  fall  a  prey  to  foul 
ambition?  Ah  me,  that  court  and  cloister  are  so 
far  apart!  The  anger  of  the  king  is  justly  roused 
against  him." 

"  But  the  rebellion  will  proceed  whether  I  lead 
or  no.  Then  why  not  join  the  winning  side?" 

"  He  is  thy  brother.  Flesh  crieth  to  flesh  and 
blood  to  blood.  He  is  the  king.  His  person  must 
be  honored  and  his  rule  maintained.  Eadgar,  if 
thou  wouldst  win  the  crown  of  life  come  rather 
to  thy  brother's  help  and  to  thy  sister's  aidance. 
164 


THE     SWORD     ON     THE     ALTAR 

If  not,  and  thou  dost  wet  thy  feet  with  Eadwine's 
blood,  the  crown  thou'lt  gain  on  earth  will  bring 
thee  sorrow  and  fall  from  thy  head  at  last  with 
oaths  and  curses." 

"  Thou  speakest  as  an  old  man,  Turketul, 
from  whose  eyes  have  passed  forever  the  golden 
visions  of  life's  glory.  Canst  thou  not  see  the 
splendor  of  a  throne  and  feel  the  pomp  of  power? 
Has  winter  come  and  laid  its  hoar  upon  thee,  be- 
numbed thy  heart,  and  frozen  all  thy  fancies,  so 
thou  must  cast  snowballs  at  my  dreams  and  show 
me  broken  ice?  Dost  thou  not  remember  the  sunny 
summer-time,  the  flowers  and  fruits  of  early  life? 
Is  the  brave  old  warrior  dead  ?  " 

"  Nay,  the  warrior  lives  and  sometimes  calls 
me  to  wars  again  to  wield  the  sword  for  right. 
Even  now  my  hand  wanders  to  the  place  where  my 
scabbard  hung.  But  holier  battles  claim  my  zeal. 
I  tell  thee,  Eadgar,  thou  shouldst  not  dream  these 
dreams.  The  winter  may  have  come,  yet  I  warn 
thee  lest  another  than  Turketul  be  leading  thee  to 
the  broken  ice,  ready  to  cast  more  deadly  balls  than 
snow,  full  at  thy  life." 

"  What  meanest  thou  ?  "   cried  Eadgar,  with 
sudden  fear  rising  in  his  heart. 
165 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  This.  Oslac  may  have  dreams  as  well  as 
thou,  and  lead  thee  to  thy  ruin." 

"  Nay !  "  laughed  the  prince,  with  growing 
reassurance.  "  Another  old  man's  fancy.  It  is 
impossible.  He  is  the  Church's  messenger  sent 
but  to  beg  my  help  in  her  hour  of  need.  Nay! 
The  monastery  has  taught  him  better  things  than 
dreams  of  the  vain  world  with  all  its  pomp  and 
glory ! " 

"  The  monastery  can  not  work  a  miracle  on  a 
man,  or  change  a  heart  forced  against  its  will 
to  watch  and  pray.  Take  the  word  of  an  old  man 
for  it  that  Oslac  loves  silk  and  purple  better  than 
a  Benedictine  gown.  Beware,  Eadgar,  beware !  " 

But  in  vain.  Wooed  by  the  vision  of  right, 
and  then  by  the  power  of  fear,  the  young  prince 
resisted.  The  dream  of  silk  and  purple  filled  his 
mind.  He  saw  not  the  pool  of  blood  that  lay 
around  the  throne  or  the  sword  of  justice  that 
swung  over  it.  He  heard  not  the  cry  of  sorrow, 
but  the  sound  of  music  and  dancing.  He  felt  not 
the  spirits  beating  at  his  heart  and  crying  with 
scorn :  "  Is  this  foul  heart  and  vain  the  champion 
of  Holy  Church?  "  He  felt  only  the  hope  of  vic- 
tory, heard  only  the  peal  of  laughter,  saw  only  silk 
166 


THE     SWORD     ON     THE     ALTAR 

and  purple,  a  crown  of  gold,  and  jewels,  all  for 
him. 

So,  chiding  Turketul  for  his  gloomy  counsels, 
he  bade  him  farewell  and  went  away. 

But  the  old  abbot  lingered  in  his  cell,  stricken 
at  the  heart.  The  cloisters  passed  away  and  the 
years  came  stealing  back  to  him.  And  he  sat  on 
and  gazed  at  the  setting  sun  and  heard  not  the 
vesper  bell.  Full  forty  years  had  he  tended  the 
state,  nursed  it  like  a  living  soul,  cherished  it,  and 
led  it  at  last  to  greatness.  Full  forty  years  the 
angel  of  the  realm  had  held  his  heart,  and  won 
the  great  love  of  a  great  soul.  Like  a  spirit  that 
could  not  be  resisted,  an  angel  that  called  forth 
the  strength  and  glory  of  his  manhood,  the  voice 
of  his  country  had  come  to  Turketul,  and  he  had 
spent  his  life-blood  for  her  sake. 

He  unbared  his  breast  and  counted  a  score  of 
wounds  and  named  their  battles,  one  by  one,  with 
quick-beating  heart.  He  uncovered  his  right  arm 
and  smiled  as  he  played  with  a  scar — his  last  great 
scar — that  gaped  still  in  its  faded  glory,  that 
scarce  had  closed  two  years  ago.  And  the  angel 
of  the  realm  came  to  his  cell  and  beckoned  him. 
She  lifted  up  her  voice,  the  same  sweet  voice,  clear 
167 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

and  thrilling  as  of  old,  the  same  fair  spirit,  yet 
pale  and  frail,  he  thought,  as  of  one  in  sore  need 
of  aidance.  And  her  voice  called  him  above  the 
song  of  vespers. 

And  when  the  monks  came  to  his  cell  an  hour 
afterward  they  found  him  deep  in  prayer  before 
his  private  altar,  with  a  sword  grasped  firmly  in 
his  hand. 


168 


CHAPTER    XXI 

HOW    THE    WARRIOR    WOKE 

AT  the  cry  of  the  state  the  old  warrior  woke. 
He  looked  on  her  pale  face,  the  frail  form  of  the 
tottering  realm,  and  then  to  heaven,  with  flash- 
ing eyes.  He  thought  of  the  king  and  his  hapless 
queen.  He  dreamed  of  Dunstan  and  the  wanton 
Odo.  And  a  prayer  burst  from  his  soul  steeped 
in  the  passion  of  the  Hebrew  king,  breaking  with 
pain  and  trembling  with  wrath. 

"  O  Lord  God,  to  whom  vengeance  belongeth ; 
O  God,  to  whom  vengeance  belongeth,  show  thy- 
self. Arise  in  thine  anger  and  hurl  thy  thunder- 
bolts against  the  evil-doers.  Lift  up  thyself,  thou 
judge  of  the  earth,  and  come  to  the  help  of  thy 
little  ones.  Come  in  thy  chariot  of  fire.  Pursue 
the  schemers  with  thy  spirit  and  overtake  them 
with  thy  curse.  Pour  out  thine  indignation  upon 
them  and  slay  them  in  thine  anger.  For  under 
their  tongues  are  mischief  and  vanity,  and  in  the 
secret  places  they  lurk  to  murder  the  daughters 
12  169 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

of  God.  Oh,  let  not  thy  little  ones  be  put  to 
shame.  Let  not  their  white  souls  be  trodden  like 
snow.  Let  not  their  cry  rise  up  to  heaven  in  vain. 
Awake,  Lord,  awake,  and  pour  out  thy  wrath  upon 
them! 

"  Let  the  mischief  of  the  wicked  return  upon 
their  heads  and  their  counsels  come  to  naught. 
Thrust  them  out  in  the  multitude  of  their  trans- 
gressions, for  they  rebel  against  thee.  Let  not 
the  righteous  be  confounded  or  their  armies  put 
to  flight.  O  Lord,  make  haste  to  help  them.  Oh, 
give  me  back  my  youth,  and  strengthen  my  limbs, 
that  I  may  fight  for  thee.-  Just  for  one  year 
renew  me,  Lord  of  all  might,  that  I  may  hurl  the 
spear  full  at  the  foe,  and  drive  the  rebels  from  the 
throne.  Oh,  let  this  withered  hand  rejoice  and 
find  its  cunning  once  again !  " 

So  prayed  the  old  warrior  in  his  grief  and 
anger.  Eadgar's  perfidy  stirred  his  soul.  His 
whole  being  rose  at  the  wantonness  of  Odo  and  the 
foulness  of  the  forces  leagued  against  the  king. 
To  what  a  depth  Holy  Church  had  fallen  to  seek 
the  aid  of  such  men — Oslac,  whose  life  polluted 
the  court,  and  Eadgar,  whose  vanities  even  the 
cloister  could  not  conceal!  How  unscrupulous 
170 


HOW     THE     WARRIOR     WOKE 

had  Dunstan  become  ere  yet  the  summer  of  his  life 
had  gone,  after  the  promise  and  hope  of  spring! 
How  little  the  withered  primate  had  changed,  plot- 
ting and  scheming  as  ever  for  his  own  hand  and 
his  kinsmen's  good !  What  hypocrisy  they  all  were 
showing ! 

Roused  by  the  sorry  sight,  the  old  chancellor 
longed  to  be  at  the  helm  of  state  again,  if  only 
to  champion  the  cause  of  purity  and  integrity  in 
the  realm.  His  passion  and  fervor  gave  new  force 
to  his  life.  The  withering  spirit  drank  of  the 
wine  of  strength  and  leaped  into  fresh  vitality. 
His  wasting  eyes  flashed  with  fire  and  sent  the 
heat  of  life  rushing  through  his  limbs.  Voices 
woke  in  his  soul,  urging  him  to  leave  the  abbey 
and  go  to  the  help  of  Eadwine. 

But  had  not  he  done  with  the  world  and  its 
sorrows,  and  won  a  well-earned  rest?  "  Nay," 
cried  the  voices  of  his  soul,  "  man  must  not  ever 
close  his  ears  to  the  cry  of  the  stricken  and  op- 
pressed! To  stand  aside  were  folly!  To  fight 
and  die,  if  need  be,  the  only  alternative  offered! 
Better  defeat,  ruin,  death,  fighting  for  the  right, 
for  the  sorrowing  and  oppressed,  for  virgin  souls 
that  weep  and  cry  to  heaven  for  help,  than  base 
171 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

submission  to  wrong,  heartless  inactivity,  diplo- 
matic coquetry,  and  cowardly  acceptance  of  dan- 
gerous circumstances !  Death  were  sweet,  and  final 
victory  sure  for  such  a  cause !  " 

With  these  thoughts  a  great  force  entered 
Turketul's  life,  like  as  if  legions  of  angels  had 
given  up  their  strength  to  him,  and  the  old  war- 
rior rose  with  conquering  might  and  left  the  clois- 
ter and  went  forth  to  champion  the  cause  of  the 
tottering  realm. 

"  To  succor  the  queen  on  the  day  of  battle, 
I  pray  thee  let  me  come  with  thee,"  prayed  little 
White  Heart. 

And  the  old  warrior  he  could  not  say  her  nay. 

So  they  twain  set  out  together,  and  came  the 
third  day  to  the  palace  of  the  king.  The  sun 
was  sinking  behind  the  Surrey  hills  in  glory  of 
burning  gold  when,  travel-stained  and  mourning, 
they  entered  Kingston.  The  old  retainers  recog- 
nized the  face  of  the  courtly  chancellor  as  they 
ushered  him  into  the  royal  presence  with  reverent 
excitement.  Entering,  he  bowed  himself  at  the 
feet  of  Eadwine. 

"  Welcome,  Turketul,  thrice  welcome.      Arise, 
thou  art  worthy  to  stand  before  the  king." 
172 


HOW     THE     WARRIOR     WOKE 

"  And  bound  to  bow  before  the  successor  of 
Athelstane  and  great-grandson  of  Alfred." 

"  What  thine  errand?  'Tis  seldom  now  the 
court  is  favored  with  thy  presence." 

"  An  errand  befitting  the  old  Turketul  rather 
than  the  new.  Ah  me,  that  he  were  young  again !  " 

"  The  old  Turketul  had  never  need  to  be 
ashamed.  His  gold  hairs  were  as  honorable  as 
are  his  gray.  And  now  thy  life  is  crowned  with 
loving  kindness  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the 
eagle's.  But  thou  seemest  sad.  What  news?" 

"  News  that  saddens  the  Son  of  Mary  and 
the  Mother  of  God.  War  is  being  plotted  against 
thy  throne,  revolution  and  rebellion,  fomented  by 
Holy  Church." 

A  wild  shout  of  passion  broke  from  the  lis- 
tening thanes  as  each  man  drew  his  sword  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"  Ah !  That  is  news  in  sooth,"  cried  the  king, 
leaping  to  his  feet.  "  Yet  as  we  feared.  Dunstan 
will  not  die.  Like  Grendel's  mother  of  the  sea, 
his  flesh  is  charmed.  The  war-beam  will  not  bite. 
Oh,  for  the  magic  sword  with  which  Beowulf  at 
last  prevailed !  " 

"  The  gold-charmed  hilt  hangs  no  more  in 
173 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

mystic  caves,  O  king,  but  is  given  of  God  to  all 
who  fight  for  him.  Hallowed  by  victory  is  the 
war-beam  of  God,  doughty  of  edges,  a  pride  of 
warriors,  able  to  grip  on  the  throat  of  the  mon- 
ster, piercing  the  bone-rings.  Greater  than  most 
men  can  wield  in  the  war-play,  seize  it,  brave  king, 
and  thou'lt  find  it  will  bite." 

"  God  give  us  grace,  then,  to  wield  well  our 
weapons  and  conquer  like  heroes.  But  how  didst 
thou  hear  it?  " 

"  Eadgar  thy  brother  came  over  to  Croyland 
to  ask  for  mine  aidance,  led  astray  by  vainest 
flattery  and  dreams  of  purple,  pomp,  and  glory. 
Wo  is  me  that  he  ever  left  the  abbey!  And  Oslac 
is  busy  stirring  up  the  Northmen  in  name  of  Holy 
Church  and  Odo.  Ere  autumn  comes  thou'lt  hear 
the  clang  of  battle !  " 

"  So  the  wrinkled  primate  thinketh  still  of 
kindred  and  maketh  excuse  to  overcome  the  Saxon. 
The  Holy  Church's  mandate  must  be  backed  by 
force  of  arms.  'Tis  well  we  are  ready.  Poor 
Eadgar,  he  was  ever  vain  as  Oslac  vile.  But  wo 
to  all  who  rise  against  our  throne!  I  tell  thee, 
Turketul,  intrigue  and  villainy  have  filled  the 
court  since  thou  didst  leave  it,  and  the  throne  ever 
174 


HOW     THE     WARRIOR     WOKE 

been  in  peril.  But  it  stands  till  now  in  its  integ- 
rity, and  shall,  God  helping  me,  even  though 
Church  and  kindred  rise  against  it.  What  say  ye, 
my  brave  men?" 

"  It  shall,  O  king !  "  shouted  the  excited  thanes, 
as  they  waved  their  swords  and  clanged  them  each 
man  against  his  neighbor's.  The  blood-red  glow 
of  the  setting  sun  fell  on  them;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  every  man  had  soaked  his  sword  in  blood. 

"  Thou  hast  spoken  well,  O  king,"  answered 
the  old  warrior,  athirst  for  the  battle.  "  Not  in 
vain  did  thy  father  beget  thee,  he  who  with  Athel- 
stane,  all-glorious,  routed  the  Danes  and  the  Scots 
there  by  Brunanburh.  Thy  cause  is  just  and 
heaven  will  not  deny  thee  victory — in  the  end. 
The  air  is  laden  with  its  legions  and  the  wicked 
are  wounded  they  know  not  whence  or  how.  Be 
strong,  O  king,  and  generations  yet  unborn  will 
honor  the  name  of  Eadwine  the  fair ! " 

"  Thou  speakest  like  Turketul  the  mighty 
warrior  rather  than  Croyland's  peaceful  abbot. 
Thy  blessing,  at  least,  the  king  is  sure  to  have." 

"  Call  me  no  longer  abbot ! "  cried  Turketul, 
uncovering  his  cloak  and  showing  his  shining 
armor.  "  God  has  given  me  back  my  strength  and 
175 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

sent  me  here  to  fight  for  thee.  Not  my  blessing 
only  wilt  thou  have,  but  my  sword  and  my  life !  " 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  thanes  knew  no  bounds. 
Wildly  they  shouted  and  loudly  clashed  their 
swords,  each  man's  face  aglow  with  admiration 
for  the  old  warrior  in  the  abbot's  dress,  standing 
with  sword  and  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  his  face 
shining  with  glory  and  his  long  white  hair  and 
beard  touched  with  the  crimson  of  setting  sun. 
The  sight  of  him  was  an  inspiration  to  the  king 
and  his  thanes.  His  presence  and  spirit  gave 
strength  and  hope  to  every  man. 

"  Honor  to  Turketul,  the  king's  noble  cham- 
pion !  "  cried  Eadmund,  leading  the  cheers. 

"  The  hero  of  Brunanburh,"  broke  in  the  dark- 
eyed  Ethelsige,  lifting  his  lance  and  cheering 
frantically. 

"  The  faithful  chancellor,"  continued  the 
scarred  Alf  ric,  "  and  the  mighty  warrior.  The 
tender-hearted  courtier  and  fear-stirring  soldier." 

"  Who  will  lead  us  to  victory  as  our  fathers 
at  Brunanburh  and  other  well-fought  fields,"  cried 
the  king's  thanes  with  one  voice.  "  Honor  to 
Turketul!" 

"  Our  hearts  are  stirred,  my  brave  men,"  cried 
176 


HOW     THE     WARRIOR     WOKE 

the  king,  towering  above  all  in  stature,  and  in- 
spired more  than  all  by  the  sight  of  the  brave  old 
warrior.  "  Our  hearts  are  stirred  and  eager  now 
for  battle.  What  say  ye  to  a  war-song,  loud  and 
bloody?" 

"  The  Song  of  Brunanburh,"  shouted  the  no- 
bles with  acclaim. 

"  Strike  on  thy  harp,  minstrel,  and  loud  sing 
anew  of  the  glories  of  Brunanburh,"  commanded 
the  king. 

The  white-haired  minstrel  stepped  into  the 
midst,  and,  striking  his  harp  with  energy,  loudly 
sang  the  great  Song  of  Brunanburh. 

Athelstan  King, 
Lord  among  Earls, 
Bracelet  bestower  and 
Baron  of  Barons, 
He  with  his  brother, 
Eadmund  Atheling, 
Gaining  a  lifelong 
Glory  in  battle 
Slew  with  the  sword-edge 
There  by  Brunanburh, 
Break  the  shield-wall, 
Hew'd  the  lindenwood, 
Hack'd  the  battle-shield 
Sons  of  Edward  with  hammer'd  brands. 

177 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Theirs  was  a  greatness 
Got  from  their  Grandsires — 
Theirs  that  so  often  in 
Strife  with  their  enemies 
Struck  for  their  hoards  and  their  hearths  and  their  homes. 

Bow'd  the  spoiler, 

Bent  the  Scotsman, 

Fell  the  ship-crews 

Doom'd  to  the  death. 
All  the  field  with  blood  of  the  fighters 

Flow'd  from  when  first  the  great 

Sun-star  of  morningtide, 

Lamp  of  the  Lord  God, 

Lord  everlasting, 
Glode  over  earth  till  the  glorious  creature 

Sank  to  his  setting. 

There  lay  many  a  man 
Marr'd  by  the  javelin, 
Men  of  the  Northland 
Shot  over  shield, 
There  was  the  Scotsman 
Weary  of  war. 

We  the  West-Saxons, 

Long  as  the  daylight 

Lasted,  in  companies 

Troubled  the  track  of  the  host  that  we  hated, 
Grimly  with  swords  that  were  sharp  from  the  grindstone, 
Fiercely  we  hack'd  at  the  flyers  before  us. 

178 


HOW     THE     WARRIOR     WOKE 

Many  a  carcase  they  left  to  be  carrion, 
Many  a  livid  one,  many  a  sallow-skin — 
Left  for  the  white-tail'd  eagle  to  tear  it,  and 
Left  for  the  horny-nibb'd  raven  to  rend  it,  and 
Gave  to  the  garbaging  war-hawk  to  gorge  it,  and 
That  gray  beast,  the  wolf  of  the  weald. 

Never  had  huger 

Slaughter  of  heroes 

Slain  by  the  sword-edge — 

Such  as  old  writers 

Have  writ  of  in  histories — 

Hapt  in  this  isle.1 

1  See  Lord  Tennyson's  translation  of  this  remarkable  old 
poem,  from  which  the  above  quotation  is  made. 


179 


CHAPTER    XXII 

GRAY    HAIRS    AND    GOLDEN 

WHILE  the  minstrel  sang  and  the  men  prepared 
them  for  the  battle,  the  women  wept  together  and 
prayed. 

The  pale-faced  nun  sate  by  the  side  of  the 
beautiful  queen  and  told  her  love.  What  a  change 
had  come  over  the  lives  of  these  two  since  that 
bright  May-day,  only  two  years  ago,  when  they 
sang  together  around  the  May-pole  tree!  Then 
White  Heart  had  wept  as  she  broke  the  circle  of 
childhood  and  bade  the  world  adieu.  Now  she 
wept  as  she  lay  in  the  lap  of  her  mother,  her 
trembling  hand  in  the  queen's,  and  heard  her 
breaking  sorrow. 

Look  on  them  with  tears  in  your  eyes,  three 
fair  women  fated  to  sorrow!  Look  on  them  till 
your  heart  is  stirred  and  fain  would  shelter  them! 
Look  on  their  tear-stained  faces,  and  mark  their 
chastened  beauty,  as  the  gold  hair  of  the  pale 
nun  and  the  fair  queen  mingles  with  the  gray  of 
180 


GRAY     HAIRS     AND     GOLDEN 

their  pain-bearing  mother!  Look,  and  listen  to 
their  sobs  and  the  falling  of  their  tears !  Turn 
not  away,  but  yield  them  your  hearts.  Their  souls 
are  crying,  breaking  through  their  tears,  and,  rising 
above  their  sobs,  speeding  their  flight  to  God ! 

"  O  God,  send  down  thy  curse  upon  them  and 
execute  vengeance.  Consume  them  with  fire  from 
heaven.  In  thee  have  we  trusted,  yet  are  we  put 
to  shame.  To  thee  have  we  looked,  sad  Son  of 
Mary,  yet  do  our  hearts  break.  We  are  counted 
as  sheep  for  the  slaughter.  Awake,  Lord  God, 
awake !  Why  sleepest  thou  ?  " 

So  cried  the  queen  in  agony. 

"  Yea,  Holy  Mother.  Yea,  Son  of  Mary. 
Yea,  Lord  God  Almighty.  Rise  for  our  help  and 
save  us.  Hide  us  in  the  covert  of  thy  wings. 
Awake,  Lord  God,  awake !  " 

So  wept  the  pale-faced  nun. 

"  Peace,  children,  peace !  "  whispered  the  gray 
queen-mother.  Her  tears  were  many,  but  her  tones 
confident  the  Lord  of  all  the  earth  would  avenge 
with  a  terrible  vengeance !  "  Peace,  children, 
peace.  Behold,  he  that  keepeth  Israel  shall 
neither  slumber  nor  sleep !  " 


181 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    VEB 

ERE  autumn  came  the  sound  of  war  was  heard 
in  the  land.  On  the  eve  of  battle,  a  pale  June 
evening  in  the  year  957,  the  lights  were  burning 
in  the  camp  outside  the  old-world  city  of  St. 
Albans. 

The  royal  troops  were  lying  on  the  site  of  the 
ancient  Verulamium,  separated  from  the  shrine  by 
the  quiet  waters  of  the  Ver,  romantic  and  historic 
tributary  of  the  winding  Colne.  The  rebels  were 
in  possession  of  the  monastery,  the  abbey,  and 
the  three  fine  churches  built  by  the  abbot  Ulsinus 
on  the  three  principal  roads  leading  to  St.  Albans. 
Long  after  the  moon  appeared  the  young  king 
and  the  old  warrior  surveyed  the  scene  and  planned 
the  mode  of  battle. 

What  generations  of  men  had  trodden  the 
streets  they  now  trod!  How  many  bloody  battles 
had  these  ruins  seen!  For  back,  far  back  in  the 
dark  and  misty  past,  beyond  the  vision  of  any 
historian,  were  laid  the  deep  foundations  of  this 
182 


THE     BATTLE     OF     THE     VER 

British  city  of  Verulam.  It  may  have  been  an- 
cient when  Nebuchadnezzar  stormed  Jerusalem,  or 
Romulus  founded  Rome,  or  David  danced  before 
the  ark.1 

From  the  time  prehistoric  Britons  hewed  the 
site  out  of  the  forest,  built  their  wattled  huts,  and 
digged  ditches  round  them  for  defense,  the  city 
had  known  the  sound  of  war.  Tribe  after  tribe 
fought  for  supremacy  round  it  ere  Caesar  came 
and  hoisted  the  flag  of  the  Eternal  City.  In  vain 
did  Cassivelaunus  defend  his  wattled  huts.  In 
vain  did  Boadicea  redden  the  streets  with  the  blood 
of  seventy  thousand  Romans.  The  invincible 
legions  returned  with  greater  slaughter.  Destroyed 
times  without  number,  Verulam  rose  from  its  ashes, 
phenix-like,  again  and  again,  taking  to  herself 
each  time  greater  and  yet  greater  splendor. 

The  first  Roman  stronghold  built  in  Britain, 
Verulam  was  made  a  municipium  or  free  city  by 
Nero,  and  favored  by  many  emperors  till  it  became 
a  place  of  great  wealth  and  beauty.  Its  spacious 
streets  were  lined  with  luxurious  villas,  in  which, 

1  See  St.  Albans  :  Historical  and  Picturesque,  by  Charles 
H.  Ashdown,  F.  R.  G.  S.,  and  F.  G.  Kitton,  whence  part  of 
the  following  description  is  drawn. 

183 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

with  scented  baths  and  savory  dishes,  the  proud 
Romans  recalled  their  sunny  Pompeii.  The  great 
Forum  spread  its  columned  space  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  where  gaily  dressed  citizens  discoursed  to- 
gether and  managed  municipal  affairs.  Near  by 
rose  the  massive  walls  of  the  Basilica,  with  its 
law  courts  and  attendant  halls,  while  the  summits 
of  temples  reared  their  columned  fa9ades  in  the 
chief  streets  around.  Anon  the  clank  of  metal 
would  fall  on  the  ear  as  companies  of  mail-clad 
warriors,  led  by  grim  centurions,  tramped  along 
the  streets,  the  sun  glinting  on  their  burnished 
helmets.  The  iron  grasp  of  Rome  had  closed  upon 
the  city,  with  the  blessings  and  curses  of  the  high- 
est civilization  the  world  had  yet  seen. 

But  soon  the  scene  is  changed  again.  The 
Romans  depart  to  prop  a  tottering  empire  and 
leave  the  Britons  in  possession  once  more.  But 
vice  and  luxury  have  weakened  them.  Picts,  Scots, 
Irish,  Saxons,  and  Danes  now  sweep  over  the  city 
in  swift  succession,  and  the  clustered  crowds  of 
luxurious  Britons  can  not  say  them  nay.  To 
Verulam  with  its  costly  palaces,  painted  temples, 
triumphal  arches,  and  Corinthian  columns,  as  to 
an  enchanted  city,  came  every  foe,  till  at  last  came 
184 


THE     BATTLE     OF     THE     VER 

a  great  horde  of  savage  Angles  and  utterly  de- 
stroyed it. 

Down  came  the  great  Forum  and  massive  Basil- 
ica. Tottered  and  fell  the  sumptuous  Greek  thea- 
ter with  its  frescoed  walls  and  marble-girdled 
spaces.  To  earth  crashed  stately  piles,  fluted 
columns,  and  carved  capitals,  grinding  priceless 
works  of  art  to  worthless  fragments.  Fire  com- 
pleted the  work.  And  so,  amid  the  shout  of  con- 
quering Angles,  the  crash  of  cyclopean  masonry, 
and  clouds  of  rolling  smoke,  Verulamium,  the 
proud  mistress  of  southern  Britain,  the  favored 
choice  of  Imperial  Rome  for  long  centuries  of 
wealth  and  glory,  passed  from  sight  of  man,  no 
more  to  rise  in  splendor  as  of  old. 

Time,  however,  had  been  kind  to  the  blackened 
ruins  of  Verulam,  and  as  Eadwine  and  Turketul 
surveyed  the  scene  and  planned  the  coming  battle 
their  eyes  fell  on  garlands  of  ivy  depending  from 
arch  and  wall,  and  trailing  networks  of  flowering 
convolvulus,  and  sweet-smelling  honeysuckle  clus- 
tering in  masses  over  broken  columns  and  fading 
frescoes.  But  within  the  ruins  wild  beasts  held 
undisputed  sway,  and  the  pale  moon  looked  down 
upon  a  weird  scene  as  the  boar  and  jackal  left  their 
13  185 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

haunts  to  seek  their  prey,  while  silently  the  wary 
wolf  crept  across  the  moonlit  Forum  of  the  de- 
serted city. 

The  grim  memories  of  the  past  entered  the 
minds  of  Eadwine  and  Turketul,  and  gave  them 
fight  on  the  morrow.  Sweet  smelled  the  eve  of 
battle  to  the  nostrils  of  the  old  warrior,  panting 
to  strike  for  king  and  country  once  again. 

At  sunrise  the  king  harangued  the  royal  troops, 
calling  upon  them  for  the  honor  of  queen  and 
throne,  the  glory  of  home  and  country,  the  purity 
and  freedom  of  life,  to  scatter  the  quaking  rebels, 
womanly  monks,  and  treacherous  Danes.  The 
fierce  cheer  that  ran  along  the  line  betokened  a 
bloody  conflict,  terribly  fulfilled. 

Waving  their  spears  in  the  blood-light  of  dawn, 
they  went  to  the  battle  singing  this  war-song: 

Forward  to  battle, 
Sons  of  the  Hengist, 
Sons  of  the  Ash-tree, 
Death-smiting  warriors, 
Noble  and  brave  : 
Forward  to  battle 
To  do  or  to  die. 

Fleet  rides  the  leader, 
Mounted  on  stallion, 

186 


THE     BATTLE     OF     THE     VER 

Snow-white  and  eager, 
Sniffing  the  war-breeze, 
Thirsting  for  blood : 
Forward  to  battle 
To  do  or  to  die. 

Girt  with  our  armor, 
Helmit  and  seax, 
Shield  white  and  dazzling, 
Spear  sharp  and  biting, 
Panting  we  run  : 
Forward  to  battle 
To  do  or  to  die. 

Better  the  barrow 
Bloody  with  battle  ; 
Laden  with  warriors 
Leaping  to  death, 
Choosing  to  enter 
Heaven  by  that  portal, 
Rather  than  womanlike 
Die  on  a  bed  : 
Forward  to  battle 
To  do  or  to  die. 

Forward  to  battle 
Sons  of  the  Hengist, 
Sons  of  the  Ash-tree, 
Death-smiting  warriors, 
Noble  and  brave  : 
Forward  to  battle 
To  do  or  to  die. 

187 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

The  churches  of  St.  Stephen  and  St.  Michael 
were  first  attacked,  the  former  under  a  company 
led  by  Turketul,  the  latter  by  troops  captained  by 
the  king.  After  a  keen  defense  the  rebels  were 
driven  from  these  and  fell  back  on  the  abbey 
across  the  Ver,  with  much  loss  of  life. 

On  the  slopes  commanding  the  abbey  and 
monastery  the  revolutionaries  were  in  great  force, 
led  by  Eadgar,  and  Alfhere,  ealdorman  of  Mercia, 
and  Oswulf,  earl  of  Northumbria.  Behind  them, 
armed  and  eager  as  any  for  the  fray,  was  a  great 
body  of  Benedictines,  led  by  Dunstan  (recalled  for 
the  battle),  and  Oslac,  and  the  hoary -headed  Athel- 
stane,  now  himself  a  monk.  Among  them  moved 
the  withered  primate,  blessing  and  cursing.  The 
old  gray-beard  cursed  the  king  and  his  troops, 
but  proclaimed  the  hope  of  heaven  to  all  who  fell 
fighting  for  Holy  Church. 

To  reach  the  rebels,  the  King's  Fish-pool  and 
Ver  had  to  be  crossed,  where  from  their  fragile 
coracles  the  ancient  Britons  had  fished,  and  mini- 
ature Roman  galleys,  driven  by  sturdy  rowers  or 
gaily  painted  sails,  had  flitted  with  freight  of 
finely  dressed  ladies  once  upon  a  time.  Now  the 
bosom  of  the  lake  bristled  with  fierce  warriors 
188 


THE     BATTLE     OF     THE     VER 

on  roughly  made  rafts,  on  which  they  vainly 
sought  to  reach  the  abbey  side.  Time  after  time 
they  tried  to  cross,  only  to  find  themselves  tossed 
into  the  waters  or  driven  back  with  heavy  loss. 
Cheered  by  Eadwine,  and  inspired  by  Turketul, 
they  rallied  again  and  again  and  leaped  on  the 
troubled  rafts. 

Everywhere  the  young  king  rushed,  stirring 
and  leading  the  royal  troops.  All  day  long  he 
sought  to  reach  the  other  side  in  vain.  But  at  sun- 
set he  rallied  the  weary  warriors  for  the  last  at- 
tempt, and,  crossing  all  together  with  a  rush,  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  a  footing. 

Here  a  desperate  hand  to  hand  encounter  took 
place.  The  rebels,  vastly  superior  in  numbers, 
bore  down  upon  the  royal  troops  and  sought  to 
hurl  them  into  the  river.  Loudly  the  king  cheered 
his  men  and  led  them  on.  Bravely  did  Turketul 
show  them  the  way.  In  the  thick  of  the  battle  his 
white  hair  was  seen,  ever  to  the  front,  ever  at 
the  place  of  danger:  he  seemed  to  lead  a  charmed 
life.  Stoutly  the  rebels  resisted.  Once  or  twice 
they  wavered  before  the  terrible  onslaught,  but  the 
monks  behind  secured  them  from  retreat. 

The  success  had  been  earned  too  late.  Dark- 
189 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

ness  soon  came  on  and  forced  the  king  to  retire 
from  a  vantage  dearly  bought.  All  day  the  car- 
nage had  lasted  and  night  mercifully  came  to  the 
help  of  the  weary  warriors. 

Ah  me!  When  the  lights  were  lit  at  Verula- 
mium  that  night  many  were  missing  who  sat 
round  them  twenty-four  hours  ago,  and  many 
looked  into  them  now  writh  pale  faces,  smitten  with 
the  wounds  of  death! 

On  the  morrow  the  struggle  was  resumed,  and 
at  noon  the  royal  troops  forced  a  passage  across 
the  waters.  Then,  as  yesterday,  a  desperate  hand 
to  hand  encounter  took  place  on  the  rising  slopes. 
Early  in  the  fray  Turketul  was  wounded,  seeking 
to  force  his  way  through  the  ranks  of  the  rebels. 
Refusing  to  leave  the  field,  he  continued  to  direct 
the  fight,  bound  as  to  his  wounds  and  carried  on 
a  shield.  Bit  by  bit  the  king,  towering  above  all 
others  in  strength  and  stature,  forced  his  way  up, 
and  beat  the  rebels  back,  hurling  anathemas  at 
the  cursing  monks.  Every  inch  of  ground  was 
fought  and  every  step  meant  loss.  But  as  the  day 
wore  on  the  defense  lost  its  fearlessness,  and  ere 
sunset  came  the  revolutionaries  fell  back  upon  the 
abbey  itself. 

190 


THE     BATTLE     OF     THE     VER 

Here  all  attempts  to  drive  them  from  their 
vantage  proved  unavailing.  Confident  in  the 
strength  of  their  position  and  numbers,  the  monks 
loudly  urged  the  rebels  to  drive  the  foul  queen's 
followers  down  the  steep.  Elated  with  victory,  the 
royal  troops  strove  hard  to  carry  the  stronghold. 
But  in  vain. 

Darkness  crept  between  the  warriors  and  left 
the  battle  still  undecided,  with  the  king,  how- 
ever, in  possession  of  the  left  bank  of  the  Ver. 

That  night  the  royal  troops  camped  on  the 
field  of  battle  amid  the  dead  and  the  dying.  Their 
wounds  were  honorable,  every  one.  Against  great 
odds  for  two  long  days  they  had  fought  and  won. 
The  morrow,  they  hoped,  would  crown  their  arms 
with  victory. 

Securely  they  laid  them  down  to  rest  under 
a  canopy  of  black  clouds  that  swept  along  the 
sky  and  made  night  dark  as  pitch.  Cheerfully 
the  king  waited  for  the  dawn.  That,  he  hoped, 
would  see  the  rebels  flying  from  his  sword. 

But  he  reckoned  without  understanding  the 
resources  of  the  foe,  and  without  giving  a  true 
explanation  of  the  activity  of  the  monks  all  night 
long. 

191 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

TWO    MOVES    IN    THE    DARK 

WITHIN  the  abbey  the  rebels  nursed  their 
wrath  and  chafed  under  wounds  Saxon  swords  had 
hewn.  Except  for  the  lights  around  the  altar 
and  shrine  of  St.  Albans,  the  old  British-Roman 
church  lay  jn  darkness.  Through  the  shadowy, 
dimly  lighted  building  black-cowled  monks  were 
moving,  holding  the  crucifix  before  the  dying  and 
pointing  the  wounded  to  the  Crucified  hanging 
above  the  altar. 

There  their  eyes  fell  on  a  lifelike  representa- 
tion of  the  dying  Saviour,  carved  out  of  a  huge 
block  of  oak  and  nailed  to  a  rough  wooden  cross. 
The  body  of  the  sufferer  was  gaily  painted:  blood 
trickled  from  his  hands  and  feet  and  spurted  from 
under  the  crown  of  thorns.  His  great  sad  eyes 
looked  down  upon  the  crowd  as  on  that  woful  day: 
On  the  tiers  of  the  nave  also  were  seven  quaint 
frescoes  of  the  Crucified,  with  St.  Mary  and  St. 
John  on  either  side,  which  the  blood-stained  hands 
192 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARK 

of  King  Offa  had  caused  to  be  painted.  Every- 
where the  Saviour  looked  down  upon  the  throng. 

The  living  cursed  and  heeded  him  not.  The 
wounded  cast  plaintive  glances  at  him,  in  case  soon 
they  might  need  his  help.  The  dying  turned  their 
faces  toward  him  and  gazed  with  rapture  on  the 
crown  of  thorns.  Grim  Dane  and  fierce  Mercian 
alike  found  their  hope  in  him. 

Within  the  monastery  monks  cursed  the  valor 
of  the  king  and  trembled.  Bit  by  bit  he  had  driven 
them  from  their  ground,  lustily  though  they  had 
cheered  the  rebels  and  damned  his  men.  Their 
nervous  fingers  quickly  ran  over  their  olive  beads 
and  played  with  their  pendant  crosses. 

They  looked  forward  to  morning  with  much 
misgiving.  Was  Holy  Church  indeed  to  be  hum- 
bled before  the  evil-doer?  Had  it  not  been  cer- 
tain of  sweeping  the  young  king  from  the  throne? 
Were  its  fondest  wishes  of  empire  and  prestige  to 
be  indefinitely  postponed?  Would  its  power  and 
aggression  be  checked  for  a  time?  Must  priests 
be  tolerated  who  dared  to  love  and  wed  the  sisters 
of  Mary?  They  groaned.  Oh,  for  victory,  Holy 
Mother  of  God ! 

In  the  abbot's  chamber  sate  the  leaders  of 
193 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

the  revolt  staring  at  the  prospect  with  brows 
wrinkled  and  stern.  The  hope  of  the  dawn  was 
dark  as  the  night.  Black  clouds  swept  across  the 
sky  and  mocked  their  woe.  The  sting  of  defeat 
rankled  sore  in  their  breasts.  In  the  hearts  of 
all  passionate  hatred  of  the  king  grew  with  the 
strength  and  swiftness  possible  only  under  such 
circumstances.  Malice,  wrath,  dread,  were  writ  on 
firmly  clenched  mouths,  deeply  knitted  brows, 
fiercely  flashing  eyes,  and  pale  or  flushed  cheeks. 

The  puckered  primate's  withered  features 
trembled  with  passion.  The  battle  had  not  gone 
as  Odo  had  expected.  Dane  was  not  yet  a  match 
for  Saxon.  What  would  the  morrow  bring  forth? 

The  pale  face  of  Dunstan  was  white  to-night. 
The  bright  eyes  danced  in  their  sockets  as  ever, 
searching  for  the  way  to  victory.  But  for  one 
hope  his  spirit  would  be  beaten  and  exile  alone 
remain  for  him. 

Eadgar  played  with  the  jeweled  hilt  of  his 
sword  and  sighed.  To  do  him  honor,  he  had  played 
with  it  right  bravely  through  the  day.  Was  not 
Turketul  right?  What  a  pity  dreams  of  silk  and 
purple  were  so  hard  to  realize!  Would  the  mark 
of  blood  be  on  the  crown,  as  on  his  sword  now,  if 
194 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARK 

he  should  ever  win  it?  Was  that  the  voice  of 
Croyland  crying  for  vengeance?  Better  keep  an 
eye  on  Oslac ! 

The  treacherous  Alfhere,  ealdorman  of  Mer- 
cia,  ground  his  teeth  in  rage.  Who  would  have 
thought  his  young  kinsman  would  have  been  so 
hard  to  beat?  The  flower  of  his  army  had  per- 
ished before  the  terrible  onslaught  of  the  king. 
Would  the  remnant  be  able  to  laugh  defiance  on 
the  morrow?  Or  would  they  flee? 

The  grim  jarls  of  the  north,  Gunnar,  Oswulf, 
Hold,  and  Dragmel,  sate  in  a  cluster  together,, 
and  cursed  both  the  Church  and  the  king  under 
their  breath.  Fierce  and  silent  men,  they  liked 
the  sight  of  blood  and  loved  the  sound  of  war. 
But  was  it  worth  while  lifting  the  sword  to  force 
a  king  from  the  side  of  a  woman?  And  they  say 
she  is  beautiful  and  good.  Yet,  what  freedom 
and  power  would  victory  bring  them! 

"  If  only  Ethelwold  would  come  with  the  brave 
East-Anglians  victory  would  yet  be  ours,"  Dun- 
stan  sighed,  breaking  the  silence. 

"  Aye !  "  answered  a  dozen  voices  together. 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  What  can  have  happened  ?  "  queried  another. 
195 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  What  if  the  young  king  has  entrapped 
him?  " 

"  If  only  he  would  come !  " 

As  Dunstan  uttered  the  hope  again,  a  monk 
came  running  from  the  church  of  St.  Peter  and 
announced  the  approach  of  the  long-delayed  Ethel- 
wold. 

A  shout  of  triumph  rent  the  air  and  startled 
the  slumbering  king  on  the  slopes  without. 

Faces  that  were  wobegone  a  moment  since 
shone  with  joy  now.  The  clenched  mouths  opened, 
.the  knitted  brows  lifted,  eyes  flashed  with  glee, 
and  pale  cheeks  glowed  with  sure  hopes  of  vic- 
tory. 

"  What  now  ?  What  now,  my  merry  men  ?  " 
asked  the  puckered  primate,  his  white  hair  shaking 
with  excitement  and  hope. 

"  Shall  we  wait  for  dawn  to  hurl  him  down 
the  slopes,"  asked  the  treacherous  Alfhere,  "  or 
attack  him  now?  " 

"  Now!  "  cried  the  grim  jarls,  leaping  to  their 
feet  and  drawing  their  blood-stained  swords. 
"  Now,  while  we  are  strong  with  anger  and  furi- 
ous with  hate !  " 

"  Nay,  not  now ! "  cried  the  wily  Dunstan,  his 
196 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARK 

deep-set  eyes  dancing  with  delight.  "  This  rather, 
ye  brave  jarls:  Let  the  East-Anglians  make  a  cir- 
cuit in  the  darkness  and  stealthily  creep  across  the 
Ver.  Then  at  dawn  he  will  wake  to  find  himself 
out-maneuvered,  surrounded,  entrapped.  With 
Ethelwold  behind,  and  you  in  front,  he  may 
gnash  his  teeth  and  curse  his  folly,  but  will  have 
to  choose,  and  that  right  speedily,  between  your 
death-smiting  swords  and  the  terms  of  Holy 
Church." 

The  cheers  that  met  this  bold  suggestion 
showed  the  wily  abbot  had  conquered  once  again. 
They  came  from  all  the  chamber,  loud,  long,  wild, 
and  full  of  passion.  They  rang  through  the  dark- 
ness and  fell  on  the  slumbering  ear  of  the  king. 
He  started  up  and  listened.  What  could  the 
monks  be  doing,  he  wondered. 

"  But  what  if  Eadwine  will  cut  his  way  out 
and  laugh  at  your  terms  of  peace  ?  "  queried  Ead- 
gar,  who  knew  his  brother's  spirit,  and  feared  still 
the  issue  of  the  fight. 

The  grim  jarls  growled  at  the  thought  and 
Mercia's  ealdorman  mocked  the  fears  of  the 
prince.  But  Odo  felt  the  king  could  not  be 
played  with. 

197 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  We  must  force  him,  at  least,  to  agree  to  the 
rending  of  the  kingdom,"  he  answered,  frowning. 
"  We  must  make  it  easy  for  him  to  yield,  else  the 
lion  may  fight  to  the  death.  For  the  present,  me- 
thinks,  there  has  been  enough  of  that.  We  can 
afford  to  bide  our  time  and  wait  for  more.  If 
we  win  the  freedom  of  the  north,  we  must  be  satis- 
fied— for  the  present.  Then  hail  Eadgar,  king 
of  the  north!  What  think  you,  ye  grim  northern 
jarls?  " 

Mercians  and  Danes  alike  were  pleased  with 
the  terms  of  Odo.  The  battle  had  been  sterner 
and  bloodier  than  they  expected.  Power  and  lib- 
erty they  loved  and  often  had  fought  for.  To 
win  them  thus  would  more  than  atone  for  the 
blood  they  had  spilt. 

To  Dunstan  and  Oslac,  however,  the  prospect 
was  not  pleasing.  Such  terms  would  put  the  goals 
of  their  ambition  indefinitely  out  of  reach.  The 
king  would  not  fall  as  Oslac  had  hoped,  and  Ead- 
gar would  not  be  numbered  among  the  slain !  The 
waters  of  the  north  would  not,  after  all,  carry  his 
bark  to  the  shining  sea  and  the  golden  strand! 
Not  yet  would  the  beautiful  Elgiva  receive  his 
fond  embraces!  He  rose  impatiently  from  his 
198 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARK 

seat  and  looked  toward  Dunstan.  Had  the  abbot 
no  way  better  than  this? 

"  Nay,  not  so !  "  cried  Dunstan  for  the  second 
time  that  night.  "  Rather  this,  most  noble  Odo : 
Fight  it  out  to  the  death.  Compel  him  to  submit. 
Teach  him  now  to  obey.  Show  him  death  and 
he  will  shrink  from  it.  Offer  him  life,  in  the 
name  of  Holy  Church,  and  he  will  perform  the 
penance  she  requires.  Hath  not  she  issued  her 
decrees?  May  her  words  be  spurned  by  a  boy? 
Must  not  they  be  obeyed  and  that  right  speedily? 
Is  it  for  no  holy  end  these  swords  were  bared? 
Fear  not,  Odo,  and  use  them  to  exalt  the  Holy 
Name!" 

"  But  how  ? "  answered  Odo,  well  enough 
pleased  with  the  rending  of  the  kingdom.  "  If 
the  temper  of  the  young  cub  will  not  yield  to 
our  commands,  what  can  we  do?  Is  it  nothing 
to  have  wrested  the  north  from  his  power  and  to 
have  weakened  him  in  the  south?  Can  not  we 
afford  to  bide  our  time?  Surely  in  the  end  Holy 
Church  will  have  her  way." 

"  Are  there  no  ways  of  making  him  obey 
without  commanding  him?  Can  not  Holy  Church 
have  her  way  now,  this  very  night,  by  one  more 
199 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

move  in  the  dark?"  asked  the  wily  abbot  in 
reply. 

The  bishops  pricked  their  ears  and  waited,  ex- 
pectant of  another  bold  suggestion. 

"  What  meanest  thou? "  queried  Odo,  with 
interest. 

"  This :  The  queen  now  sleeps  at  Kingston. 
Let  Holy  Church  send  and  take  her!  And  then, 
will  not  her  commands  be  sure  to  be  obeyed?  Will 
not  Holy  Church  herself  enforce  her  own  decrees? 
Will  not  the  king  be  powerless  to  disobey  and  all 
men  taught  the  Church  must  be  supreme?  " 

The  fleshy  Kynesige,  who  sate  by  Odo's  side 
vainly  hunting  his  brain  for  a  thought,  smiled 
broadly  and  roared  approval.  The  puckered 
primate  smoothed  his  wrinkles  and  raised  his 
brows  as  the  pleasant  plan  took  possession  of  his 
mind.  For  the  second  time  that  night  Dunstan 
had  scored. 

"  Good,  Dunstan,  good !  "  cried  Odo,  smiling 
triumphantly.  "  But  how  can  it  be  done  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  answered  Oslac  advan- 
cing, "  and  I  will  see  the  will  of  Holy  Church  per- 
formed. A  few  fleet  horses,  and  we  shall  be  at 
Kingston  ere  dawn,  then  carry  Elgiva  far  from 
200 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARK 

the  reach  of  Eadwine.  Speak  the  word  aud  I  will 
away." 

"  Away,  then,  and  may  victory  attend  thee. 
Take  her  and  banish  her  from  the  realm  forever, 
as  the  law  of  Holy  Church  commands.  Good, 
Dunstan,  good!  No  more  will  the  harlot  sleep  in 
the  rebel's  arms.  No  more  will  he  vaunt  himself 
and  laugh  at  the  orders  of  Odo.  Now  will  Holy 
Church  have  her  way.  Away,  Oslac,  away,  and 
make  our  wishes  sure !  " 

So  cried  the  primate,  carried  away  with  delight 
at  this  fresh  prospect  of  victory  opened  up  before 
him.  This  was  vengeance  beyond  his  fondest 
dreams. 

Thus  encouraged,  Oslac  rose  at  once  and  went 
out  into  the  night.  The  grim  northern  jarls  and 
Alfhere  quickly  followed  to  execute  their  maneu- 
ver. There  were  smiles  on  the  face  of  every  man 
as  the  joy  of  victory,  certain  it  seemed,  entered 
them.  There  was  triumph  in  the  heart  of  Oslac. 
At  last,  at  last,  the  queen  was  delivered  into  his 
power ! 

When  they  had  gone  Odo  exulted,  chuckled, 
and  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee.  The  floods  of 
hate  overpowered  him  and  carried  him  on  to  the 
14  201 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

scheming  of  a  deed  that  brands  his  memory  with 
guilt  and  shame.  With  victory  within  his  grasp 
he  thought  only  of  fiendish  revenge.  Had  not 
the  king  laughed  him  to  scorn  and  mocked  at  the 
Church's  hypocrisy?  Had  not  the  queen  hurled 
her  anger  at  the  priests?  What  consummate 
revenge  could  he  have?  And  as  he  queried  the 
fiend  entered  into  his  soul. 

"  Was  not  the  queen  beautiful  ?  Rob  her  of 
her  beauty ! "  whispered  the  fiend,  "  and  laugh  at 
her  calamity !  " 

The  primate  of  Holy  Church  started,  hesi- 
tated a  moment  only,  then  gloated  over  the  deed, 
and  opened  his  eyes  with  glee,  vengeance-satis- 
fied. 

"  Go  thou  also,  Sigwulf ,"  he  cried  to  his  youth- 
ful kinsman — the  same  who  sate  at  his  feet  at  the 
coronation  feast — under  whose  Benedictine  gown, 
we  said,  a  wild  barbarian  lurked.  "  Go  thou  also, 
Sigwulf,  and  see  that  Oslac  fulfils  our  commands. 
Seize  the  queen,  and  soon  as  thou  canst,  rob  her 
of  her  beauty!  Brand  her  with  red-hot  irons! 
Let  the  scars  be  deep!  Make  sure  no  one  inter- 
feres !  Then  banish  her  to  Ireland !  So  will  Holy 
Church  triumph,  and  Eadwine  and  his  queen  come 
202 


TWO     MOVES     IN     THE     DARE 

to  feel  the  power  of  Odo!    Away,  Sigwulf,  away, 
and  brook  no  tarrying !  " 

Into  another  soul  the  fiend  had  also  entered. 
So,  when  Sigwulf  went  away  on  his  barbaric 
errand,  Dunstan's  dark  eyes  danced  with  dia- 
bolic joy. 


203 


CHAPTER    XXV 

A    PRAYER    AND    GOD's    ANSWER 

WHEN  the  king  lay  down  amid  the  dead  and 
the  dying,  and  Holy  Church  planned  her  two 
moves  in  the  dark,  the  women  at  court  prayed. 
A  messenger  had  come  from  Verulamium,  and 
while  the  fate  of  the  men  hung  in  the  balance,  the 
hearts  of  the  women  trembled. 

In  the  queen's  private  chamber  the  white  nun 
of  Croyland  stood  beside  the  altar,  holding  high 
a  handsome  golden  cross,  while  the  beautiful  El- 
giva  and  sad  queen-mother,  her  hair  now  white  as 
snow,  knelt  and  sang  this  hymn  of  prayer: 

Through  Thy  wounded  heart  and  weary, 

Through  Thy  bleeding  brow  and  sad, 

Through  Thine  agony  and  passion, 

Joy  of  angels,  Hope  of  men, 

Come  our  feet  that  now  are  torn  and  bleeding, 

Come  our  hearts  that  now  are  sore  with  weeping, 

And  Thy  Cross  our  pierced  hands  uplifting. 

For  our  lov'd  ones  faring  far 
Girt  about  with  dangers  drear, 
Father,  husband,  brother,  child, 

204 


PRAYER     AND     GOD'S     ANSWER 

Bone  of  bone,  and  blood  of  blood, 

Lord,  Thou  see'st  our  feet  are  torn  and  bleeding. 

For  the  wounded,  rent,  and  sore, 

Lying  on  the  battle-field, 

For  the  weary  and  the  worn, 

Lifting  tearful  eyes  above, 

Lord,  Thou  know'st  our  hearts  are  sore  with  weeping. 

For  the  dying  and  the  dead 

Giving  back  their  souls  to  God, 

For  the  fated  of  the  fight 

Gazing  at  the  starless  sky, 

Lord,  Thy  Cross  our  pierced  hands  are  lifting. 

Grant  that  from  danger  our  dearest  be  guarded, 
Grant  that  to  triumph  their  armies  be  led, 
Grant  that  the  teeth  of  death-winged  arrows 
Slip  from  the  shields  of  our  brave-fighting  men, 
Strengthen  their  sword-play,  and 
Give  them  to  feel  the  might  of  the  Lord-King, 
Maker,  and  Saviour,  and  Slayer  of  men. 

Let  not  the  white-tail'd  eagle  descending 
Swoop  on  the  carcass  of  heroes  well-slain, 
Let  not  the  hungry  war-hawk  be  rending 
Faces  now  set  in  the  cold  grip  of  Death, 
Hover  around  them,  and 
Let  the  pale  moonlight,  light  of  the  dying, 
Lighten  their  souls  to  the  Broad  Burg  of  Heav'n. 

That  night  the  sad  queen  and  the  pale  nun 
stayed  up  late  communing  with  one  another.    They 
205 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

sate  in  the  chamber  whence  Eadwine  was  dragged 
on  coronation  eve.  Three  quaintly  shaped  lan- 
terns lighted  it  dimly.  The  memory  of  that 
dream-dispelling  night  came  back  to  Elgiva  like 
a  flood  of  rushing  waters,  and  beat  against  the 
hope  in  her  heart. 

"  My  heart  fails  me  to-night,  White  Heart. 
The  light  of  faith  has  burned  low:  shadows  flit 
in  the  gloom  and  frighten  me.  Where  is  God, 
White  Heart?  Will  he  hear  our  prayer?  Can 
he?  Or  does  it  enter  the  great  void  and  fall  on 
no  listening  ear?  " 

"  So  asked  I  Turketul  once  when  sorely  tried," 
answered  the  soft-voiced  nun,  crucifix  in  hand. 
" '  My  child,'  he  said,  '  come  with  me.'  He  took 
me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  to  the  cell  of  an 
aged  nun. 

"  It  was  dark,  and  she  beheld  us  not,  but  by 
the  light  from  her  lamp  I  saw  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  face.  She  seemed  to  be  laden  with 
a  great  sorrow  and  wrestled  long  in  prayer.  '  Wilt 
thou  not  answer  me,  O  Lord  ?  '  she  cried  again  and 
again  in  great  agony  of  soul,  so  that  I  was  glad 
when  Turketul  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me 
away.  Her  agony  was  so  great. 
206 


PRAYER     AND     GOD'S     ANSWER 

"  He  took  me  into  the  night.  '  Look  up  there,' 
he  said,  and  pointed  to  the  heavens.  I  looked  up, 
and  beheld  myriads  of  stars  and  countless  worlds 
away  in  the  deep,  cold  spaces.  Near  by  was  an 
old  man  with  a  star-glass,  through  which  he  was 
looking  at  the  far-off  worlds.  '  Seest  thou  aught?  ' 
I  asked.  '  God,'  he  answered.  *  Look  for  thyself.' 
And  I  looked.  The  deep,  cold  spaces  were  covered 
with  the  dust  of  stars.  Myriad  upon  myriad  of 
shining  worlds,  unseen  before,  met  my  gaze.  But 
all  were  cold  and  speechless,  and  I  could  find  no 
comfort.  Sadly,  therefore,  I  turned  away  from 
the  sky. 

"  Then  Turketul  took  me  by  the  hand  again, 
very  gently,  and  led  me  slowly  straight  back  to  the 
cell  of  the  aged  nun.  *  Look,'  he  said.  The  tears 
were  gone!  It  seemed  as  if  the  sun  were  shining 
from  her  face !  *  I  thank  thee,  Holy  Son,  that 
thou  hast  heard  me,'  she  was  crying,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  joy.  Again  and  again  the  words  came  from 
her  heart,  steeped  in  boundless  praise,  and  accented 
with  the  note  of  certain  triumph.  '  There,'  said 
Turketul,  *  there  in  that  cell,  as  in  the  shining 
worlds,  is  God,  in  the  heart  of  thy  sister,  whose 
prayer,  thou  seest,  he  hath  answered.' ' 
207 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  But  how  do  I  know  he  will  answer  mine  ?  " 
asked  the  queen,  feeling  for  her  crucifix. 

"  So  asked  I  Turketul  when  we  turned  away 
and  passed  out  into  the  night  again.  '  With  the 
answer  thou  hast  nothing  to  do,  ray  child,'  he 
replied.  *  Thou  hast  only  to  pray,  nothing  doubt- 
ing, leaving  God  to  mind  his  own  affairs.  The 
prayer  is  thine.  The  answer  is  God's.  In  his  own 
time  and  way  he  will  perform  it.  Not  now  it  may 
be:  his  wisdom  knoweth  best.  Not  in  thy  lifetime, 
perhaps.  Not  in  a  thousand  years:  who  knoweth? 
But  surely  will  he  perform  it  at  the  right  time.' 

"  *  See,'  he  cried,  as  he  pointed  heavenward 
and  then  swept  his  hand  over  the  moonlit  fields, 
'  behold  the  myriad  stars.  Look  at  the  fair,  solid 
earth,  and  listen  to  thy  soul's  prayer;  for  I  tell 
thee  that  prayer  shall  endure,  and  its  answer  en- 
dure, long  after  the  stars  and  the  earth  have  per- 
ished !  Is  it  not  written :  "  Heaven  and  earth  shall 
pass  away :  but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away  "  ? 
And  hath  he  not  promised  to  answer  thy  prayer? 
Though  of  the  day  in  which  he  will  answer,  and 
of  the  hour,  no  man  knoweth,  no,  not  the  angels 
which  are  in  heaven,  neither  the  Son,  but  the 
Father  only.  Ask  what  thou  wilt,  my  child,  and 
208 


PRAYER  AND  GOD'S  ANSWER 

leave  the  rest  with  God.  He  will  not  close  his 
ears,  but  will  answer  in  good  time,  in  good  time.' 
So  Turketul  told  me,  Elgiva." 

"  Yea,  White  Heart,  and  told  thee  truly,  I 
would  say,  if  fear  and  darkness  did  not  crowd  my 
soul.  But  last  night  I  lay  and  dreamed  of  Edwy, 
and  my  heart  is  sorely  troubled.  For  in  my  dream, 
lo,  countless  black  figures  crept  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, and  stole  across  a  river,  silently  and  softly, 
as  if  walking  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  And 
when  day  dawned,  lo,  they  were  all  warriors  clad 
in  mail  and  armed  with  spears  and  swords.  In  the 
midst  of  them  lay  the  king.  And  as  they  lifted 
their  spears  to  hurl  at  him  I  cried  aloud.  He 
seemed  to  hear  me,  rose  hastily,  and  ran  down  a 
long  slope  into  the  river,  pursued  by  an  army 
behind  and  awaited  by  one  in  front.  They  flung 
their  spears  at  him  and  wounded  him.  And  when 
I  saw  the  blood  I  awoke.  What  can  my  dream 
portend,  White  Heart?  Does  it  not  weaken  your 
hold  on  God?  Is  that  his  answer  to  my  prayer?  " 

"  Have  not  messengers  come  from  the  battle 

to  say  that  the  king  hath  beaten  the  foe  and  waits 

but  to  put  them  to  flight  on  the  morrow?     Is  not 

thy  dream  vain?     Thou  art  weary  and  sad,  and 

209 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

full  of  forebodings  struck  on  the  anvil  of  thy  love. 
Fear  not,  Elgiva!  To-morrow  the  king  will  con- 
quer ! " 

"  And  when  I  slept  again,  White  Heart,  lo, 
out  of  the  darkness  came  the  sound  of  horses. 
Nearer  and  nearer  they  came,  till  at  the  palace 
gate  the  dark  riders  dismounted.  Slowly  they 
crept  to  where  I  lay,  and  came  and  bent  over  me. 
The  hot  breath  of  one  beat  against  my  cheek  and 
made  my  heart  beat  loudly.  But  I  could  not 
move  or  speak.  Slowly  his  features  were  disclosed 
to  me.  They  were  those  of  Oslac,  with  the  wild 
look  that  filled  his  eyes  that  day  he  hounded  me  in 
the  wood.  His  hot  breath  came  faster.  His  eyes 
opened  wider.  A  smile — O  God,  what  a  smile! — 
covered  his  face.  *  Thou  art  mine,  Elgiva,  mine 
at  last,'  he  whispered,  *  come  away  with  me ! '  And 
he  stooped  to  kiss  me.  But  ere  his  lips  touched 
mine  I  awoke  with  a  cry,  and,  lo,  I  was  shaking 
with  terror.  I  slept  no  more.  Oh,  what  can 
these  dreams  portend,  White  Heart?  Will  he 
hear,  and  save  me,  if  I  pray  to  him  ?  " 

"  Pray,  my  sister,  pray,  and  he  will  answer 
thee." 

"  Good  night,  White  Heart.  It  is  late  and 
210 


PRAYER  AND  GOD'S  ANSWER 

slumber  must  be  sought.  Good  night!  Remember 
me  in  thy  prayers,  and  forget  not  the  king. 
Where  is  he  now  ?  And  how  ?  May  He  answer  us ! 
Good  night,  White  Heart,  good  night ! " 

The  queen  retired  to  her  bedchamber,  and 
laid  herself  down  to  rest  by  the  side  of  her  sleep- 
ing child.  For  long  she  tossed  on  her  couch, 
troubled  and  anxious,  till  at  last,  worn  out,  she 
fell  asleep. 

And  as  she  slept  she  dreamed.  Out  of  the 
darkness  crept  countless  black  figures  and  stole 
across  the  river,  silently  and  softly,  as  if  walking 
on  the  surface.  Anon  day  dawned,  and,  lo,  they 
were  warriors  clad  in  mail  and  armed  with  spears 
and  swords.  And  in  the  midst  of  them  lay  the 
king.  And  as  they  lifted  their  spears  to  hurl  at 
him,  the  queen  awoke,  crying :  "  Edwy,  Edwy, 
awake!  They  surround  thee!  They  entrap  thee! 
They  rise  to  hurl  the  spear!  Awake,  Edwy, 
awake !  " 

She  was  frightened,  and  looked  around  her 
dark  chamber  fearfully.  Black  clouds  were  sweep- 
ing across  the  sky,  through  which  the  light  of  the 
moon  glinted  now  and  again.  Her  dream  troubled 
her  and  made  her  still  more  anxious.  The  darkness 
211 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

closed  around  her  soul  as  the  lights  of  faith  went 
out.  A  cry  of  passion  broke  from  her  heart 
against  God,  a  cry  steeped  in  pain  and  bitter  dis- 
appointment. From  God  she  turned  to  her  child 
and  wept. 

"  Was  it  for  this  thou  wast  born,  my  child, 
my  darling?  To  bitterness  and  sorrow?  To  see 
thy  father  hounded  of  Holy  Church  and  thy 
mother  blaspheming  God?  Why  will  he  not  an- 
swer me,  my  child,  if  only  for  thy  sake,  pure 
white  soul,  still  scented  with  the  breath  of  heaven? 
How  long  will  the  wicked  triumph?  " 

The  child  slept  peacefully  and  answered  not, 
nor  woke  when  the  hot  tears  fell  on  its  face. 

Was  God's  benediction  of  peace  on  the  face 
of  the  child?  How  else  did  a  quiet  peace  steal 
over  the  queen's  soul  and  lead  her  to  kiss  her 
crucifix  with  a  sigh  of  repentance?  How  else  did 
she  lay  herself  down  again  to  sleep  with  the  babe 
on  her  breast  and  a  new  hope  in  her  life,  as  if  the 
angels  of  God  had  entered  to  garrison  her  heart  and 
mind,  through  Christ  Jesus?  How  else  did  she  fall 
asleep  whispering  to  her  child :  "  Hush,  my  soul ! 
The  answer  is  God's!  Not  in  my  lifetime,  not 
in  thine,  perhaps ;  but  surely  at  the  right  time ! " 


PRAYER     AND     GOD'S     ANSWER 

And  as  she  slept  pleasant  visions  of  childhood 
passed  through  her  brain  and  lit  her  face  with 
joy.  The  last  shadows  of  sorrow  fled  before  the 
light  of  her  dream. 

As  she  lay  thus,  the  window  of  her  room 
opened  and  a  monk  crept  stealthily  in.  At  that 
moment  the  moon  broke  from  behind  a  black 
bank  of  clouds  and  flooded  the  chamber  with  its 
pale  pure  light.  Its  beams  fell  on  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  queen  and  glorified  her  wealth  of  golden 
tresses  that  partly  hid  the  babe  quietly  sleeping 
on  her  snow-white  breast.  Her  face  still  shone 
with  the  joy  of  her  dream.  The  monk  opened 
his  eyes  in  admiration,  and  came  and  bent  over  her. 

Suddenly  the  light  passed  from  her  face,  and 
pain  settled  on  every  feature.  The  monk  started 
at  the  change.  Anon  her  lips  began  to  move.  He 
knelt  down  to  catch  her  words.  His  hot  breath 
beat  on  her  fair  cheeks. 

"  They  come !  They  come  over  the  river  again ! 
Fight  on,  Edwy !  Fight  on !  Make  no  peace. 
Strike,  and  spare  not.  Fight  till  the  wicked  flee, 
or  thou  dost  fall  fighting  for  the  right.  Fight 
on,  Edwy!  Fight  on!  Hark!  The  sound  of 
horses  again.  They  come.  They  come.  Nearer, 
213 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

nearer.  Save  me,  Holy  Mother.  Save  me.  It 
is  the  face  of  Oslac!  Oh,  what  eyes!  Save  me, 
Son  of  Mary.  Save  me.  Edwy !  Edwy " 

So  crying,  the  queen  woke  with  a  start. 

"  Hush  i  or  it  will  go  ill  with  thee,"  hissed 
the  monk  as  he  knelt  over  her  and  stifled  her 
screams.  "  Hush !  Edwy  is  not  here,  but  Oslac 
come  to  claim  thee  for  his  own.  Come,  Elgiva, 
come.  Thou'rt  mine  at  last.  No  power  on  earth 
can  save  thee  from  me  now ! " 

The  queen  struggled  in  his  unholy  arms  as  for 
her  life,  but  could  not  free  herself.  Her  smoth- 
ered cries  did  not  reach  far.  Her  frantic  efforts 
were  unavailing.  In  a  moment  some  armed  retain- 
ers of  the  primate,  awaiting  Oslac's  call  without, 
came  leaping  into  the  chamber.  Quickly  seizing 
her,  they  lifted  her  out  through  the  window  and 
carried  her  away  to  where  their  horses  stood. 
Binding  her  hastily  to  Oslac's  saddle  and  casting 
a  robe  round  her,  they  mounted  their  steeds  and 
bounded  away  at  a  gallop. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone  than  White  Heart 
and  the  sad  queen-mother  came  running  into  the 
queen's  chamber,  only  to  find  traces  of  the  strug- 
gle and  the  room  empty — save  for  the  babe  that 


PRAYER  AND  GOD'S  ANSWER 

still  lay  sleeping  on  the  couch  from  which  its 
mother  had  been  torn.  Through  the  open  window 
came  the  distant  sound  of  retreating  horses,  bound- 
ing away  to  the  west.  On  the  floor  was  a  Benedic- 
tine cowl,  and  inside  it  was  written  the  name  of 
Oslac. 

The  women  wept  with  anger  and  sorrow. 

"O  Son  of  Mary!"  shrieked  White  Heart, 
trembling  with  passion.  "  Is  this  thine  answer  to 
her  prayer?  Is  this  thine  answer?  " 

She  fell  on  her  knees  and  looked  on  her  cruci- 
fix with  eyes  pained,  perplexed,  and  full  of  tears. 
Then,  starting  up,  she  hurled  it  into  the  darkness 
after  the  flying  monk,  crying: 

"  Pursue  him !  Pursue  him !  Thou  Son  of 
Mary !  Pursue  him !  And  avenge  the  queen !  " 


215 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

RECEIVING    A    CROWN    OF    GLORY 

WHEN  day  dawned  the  king  found  himself  out- 
maneuvered  and  entrapped.  Never  was  man  more 
surprised  than  he  when  morning  light  revealed  the 
rebels  still  in  front,  and  a  fresh  force  across  the 
Ver,  hemming  him  in.  The  activity  of  the  monks 
during  the  night  was  in  preparation  for  head- 
long flight,  he  fancied,  and  not  in  execution  of 
this  surrounding  maneuver. 

So  this  was  the  cause  of  the  cheer,  loud,  long, 
and  full  of  passion :  this  the  end  of  all  his  fighting ! 

The  situation  was  bewildering.  To  still  at- 
tempt to  storm  the  abbey  with  a  foe  in  front  and 
a  foe  behind  was  well-nigh  impossible.  To  retreat 
across  the  river,  menaced  in  the  rear,  was  equally 
so.  Yet  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  die  making 
the  attempt,  or  to  capitulate.  The  rebels  waited 
while  the  king  considered,  their  long  spears  glit- 
tering in  the  morning  sun,  confident  the  victory 
was  theirs. 

216 


A     CROWN     OF     GLORY 

Looking  at  the  brave  dead  that  lay  around 
him,  for  his  sake  pierced  with  many  wounds,  and 
at  the  feeble  force  that  still  remained  to  him,  the 
king  frowned.  Looking  at  the  overwhelming  num- 
bers opposed  to  him  he  frowned  still  worse.  His 
courage  was  undaunted  and  his  soul-strength  un- 
diminished.  To  sound  the  battle-cry  and  court 
victory,  even  in  the  face  of  such  fearful  odds,  was 
his  first  impulse.  Every  man  in  the  camp  would 
follow  him  to  death,  and  laugh  at  the  fiend,  he 
knew,  if  only  he  lifted  his  spear.  But  what  should 
be  done?  For  their  sakes  should  he  come  to  terms? 
Or  fighting  die? 

The  king  and  his  captains  gathered  round  the 
wounded  Turketul,  while  the  armies  waited  for 
the  signal  of  death  or  life. 

"  Fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end ! "  cried  the 
old  warrior,  raising  himself  feebly  on  his  shield. 
"  Better  defeat,  wounds,  death,  fighting  for  the 
right,  for  the  sorrowing  and  oppressed,  for  vir- 
gin souls  that  weep  and  cry  to  Heaven  for  help, 
than  base  submission  to  wrong,  crafty  diplo- 
macy, feeble  acceptance  of  dangerous  circum- 
stances. Death  is  sweet,  and  final  victory  sure, 

for  all  who  suffer  for  such  a  cause.     Fight  it  out 
15 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

to  the  bitter  end;  suffer  together  with  Christ  now, 
and  when  the  Chief  Shepherd  shall  appear,  ye 
shall  receive  a  crown  of  glory  that  fadeth  not 
away." 

As  he  finished,  the  old  warrior  sank  back  on 
his  shield  exhausted.  The  black  angel  was  hover- 
ing round  him  even  now.  He  was  smitten  sore 
with  the  wounds  of  death  and  breathed  quickly, 
but  his  face  pointed  to  the  foe.  His  eyes  were 
dim  and  filling  with  the  strange  weird  light  no 
man  can  mistake,  yet  his  vision  of  truth  was  clear 
and  the  integrity  and  strength  of  his  soul  un- 
shaken. 

His  words  fell  on  the  ears  of  brave  and  ad- 
miring men,  and  stirred  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
royal  warriors.  Every  man  grasped  his  spear 
more  firmly,  and  felt  a  new  strength  enter  his 
soul. 

"  Sound  the  battle-cry,"  shouted  Eadmund, 
"  and  we  will  fight  to  the  bitter  end.  For  virgin 
souls  that  weep.  For  the  honor  of  the  queen. 
For  king  and  country !  " 

Ten  thousand  spears  flashed  in  the  morning 
light  and  waited  the  word  to  hurl  them. 

The  dark-eyed  Ethelsige  and  the  brow-scarred 
218 


A     CROWN     OF     GLORY 

Alfric,  however,  remained  silent,  and  waited  till 
the  enthusiasm  stirred  by  the  old  warrior's  words 
had  cooled  a  little. 

"  What  think  you,  ye  silent  men,  what  think 
you  ?  "  asked  the  king,  turning  toward  them.  "  Is 
death  too  much  to  pay  for  the  honor  of  a  soul? 
Is  life  endurable  under  any  circumstances?  Are 
the  ties  of  home  and  kindred,  wife  and  children, 
too  dear?  It  can  not  be  that  ye  are  both  afraid?  " 

"  To  court  death  rather  than  endure  shame  is 
the  wish  of  every  true  warrior,"  answered  the 
brow-scarred  Alfric.  "  For  my  king  and  country 
I  have  never  failed  in  battle,  and  have  won  these 
scars.  Life  is  not  so  sweet  to  my  taste  that  for 
its  sake  I  would  give  up  a  warrior's  honor  and  earn 
the  name  of  coward.  But  is  there  no  such  thing 
as  peace  with  honor?  With  cunning  diplomacy 
may  not  we  save  our  lives  and  maintain  the  honor 
of  our  fair  names  ?  " 

"  And  we  know  not  what  terms  may  be 
offered,"  broke  in  the  dark-eyed  Ethelsige. 
"  Why  make  haste  to  build  a  barrow  before  we 
learn  the  terms  of  peace?  Many  a  one  now  morn- 
ing-cold the  harp  shall  wake  no  more.  The  raven, 
fiercely  eager  o'er  the  fated,  shall  soon  be  full 
219 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

of  talking  and  to  the  earn  shall  say  how  it  sped 
liim  at  the  gorging,  when,  with  the  wolf,  he  robbed 
the  slain.  And  why,  if  peace  can  be  arranged 
with  honor,  may  not  we  spare  our  carcases  till 
another  time?  " 

The  wounded  warrior  turned  him  on  his  bier 
with  a  groan  and  sternly  pointed  to  the  foe. 

Even  while  Ethelsige  spake  a  messenger  was 
seen  to  leave  the  abbey  and  approach  the  royal 
ranks.  As  he  drew  near,  Eadwine  recognized  the 
fleshy  Kynesige.  He  came  toward  the  king  stalk- 
ing with  proud  and  overbearing  mien,  haughty 
and  insolent  as  ever.  Within  twenty  paces  of  the 
king's  men  he  lifted  up  his  loud  voice  and  shouted : 

"  In  the  name  of  Holy  Church  and  the  most 
noble  Odo,  I  command  you  to  surrender. 

"  Free  pardon  and  remission  of  sin  is  promised 
to  all  who  will  lay  down  their  arms,  on  the  fol- 
lowing terms: 

"  Firstly.  The  king  to  renounce  Elgiva  and 
banish  her  from  the  realm,  even  as  Holy  Church 
hath  commanded. 

"  Secondly.  The  territory  north  of  the  Thames 
— namely,  the  ealdormanry  of  Mercia,  and  of 
Northumbria,  and  of  East  Anglia,  to  be  given  up 
220 


A     CROWN     OF     GLORY 

to  Eadgar  as  independent  sovereign,  in  punish- 
ment of  the  king's  sin. 

"  Thirdly.  The  king  to  be  handed  over  to  Holy 
Church  and  held  as  hostage  of  war  till  the  terms 
of  peace  are  duly  ratified  and  performed. 

"  One  hour  is  given  you  to  consider  and  re- 
pent. 

"  In  the  name  of  Holy  Church  and  the  most 
noble  Odo,  I  call  upon  you  to  hearken  and  obey, 
on  pain  of  death  and  eternal  shame!  Amen." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  the  fleshy 
bishop  gathered  his  robes  in  hand  and  stalked 
back  to  the  abbey,  glad  withal  that  he  had  not 
received  a  spear  for  answer  and  had  spoken  so 
bravely. 

Ere  he  disappeared  the  notice  of  the  king  was 
drawn  to  a  great  commotion  among  the  rebels  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Ver.  Great  numbers  were 
running  toward  a  point  in  the  river  beyond  the 
church  of  St.  Stephen.  Soon  a  man  was  seen  to 
plunge  into  the  water  and  make  for  the  king's 
side.  Countless  arrows  splashed  round  him,  and 
for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  be  slain. 
Strongly  he  swam,  however,  and  reached  the  bank 
at  length,  not  without  many  sores.  Up  the  slopes 
221 


he  hurried,  making  straight  for  the  king,  and 
staggering  under  his  wounds.  And  when  at  last 
he  reached  the  royal  presence  he  sank  breathless 
and  exhausted,  and  swooned  away. 

"  Give  him  wine  and  bring  him  swiftly  round," 
the  king  commanded.  "  From  his  state  we  should 
judge  he  must  have  run  hard  and  hath  a  burden 
to  deliver — it  may  be  from  the  queen." 

Wine  was  given  the  runner,  and  his  wounds 
deftly  bound  by  the  king's  thanes.  He  recovered 
and  swooned  again.  Would  he  ever  speak? 

Breathless  with  excitement,  the  king  waited  for 
the  runner's  message.  Could  aught  be  wrong  at 
court  ? 

The  wounded  Turketul  turned  upon  his  shield 
and  drew  the  eyes  of  the  waiting  throng. 

"  Hold  the  cross  before  mine  eyes,"  he  groaned. 
"  Nearer,  nearer.  My  sight  is  dim  this  summer 
morn.  Nearer,  nearer  still.  There!  Now  my 
soul  beholds  him  once  again." 

The  priest  bent  over  the  old  warrior,  and  held 
the  crucifix  close  to  his  dim  eyes,  whispering: 

"  When  the  Chief  Shepherd  shall  appear,  thou 
shalt  receive  the  crown  of  glory  that  fadeth  not 


away." 


222 


A     CROWN     OF     GLORY 

"  Nearer !  Nearer  still !  "  answered  the  dying 
man,  as  darkness  closed  around  him. 

"  The  Chief  Shepherd  will  soon  appear," 
moaned  the  king,  as  he  turned  from  the  brave  old 
warrior  to  the  wounded  runner  now  coming  to 
life  again. 

"  O  king ! "  he  gasped,  looking  with  pity  on 
the  monarch's  face. 

"  What  news  ?     Speak  quickly !  " 

"  111  news.  Too  hard  for  the  heart  of  the 
king." 

"  What  thine  errand  then?  " 

"  An  errand  would  God  I  had  never  run.  Wo 
is  me  that  I  should  bear  this  message  to  the  king." 

"Speak  then!     Quick!" 

"  Thou  makest  haste  to  hear  thy  sorrow,  art 
swift  to  bear  thy  burden,  eager  to  grasp  the  thorn 
that's  doomed  to  wound  thy  heart  and  brow." 

"  Hath  aught  befallen  the  queen  ?  " 

"  Yea,  indeed !  Last  night  while  she  slept  and 
dreamed,  or  lay  and  prayed  for  thee,  armed  men 
came  and  stole  thy  queen  away.  Her  screams 
awoke  the  sad  queen-mother,  who  hastened  to  the 
chamber  to  find  the  babe  only  sleeping  on  the 
couch,  and  hear  the  hurrying  of  retreating  feet." 
223 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

The  shout  of  anger  that  rose  from  the  royal 
ranks  fell  on  the  startled  rebels.  Odo  pricked  his 
ears  in  anger,  but  Dunstan  looked  well  pleased. 

"  Eadwine  will  fight  it  out,"  cried  Eadgar. 
"  Did  not  I  tell  thee  he  would,  O  mocker?  "  he 
queried  of  Alfhere. 

"  And  didst  thou  not  pursue  ?  "  demanded  the 
king.  "  Were  there  no  brave  men  at  Kingston 
ready  to  die,  if  need  be,  like  these  heroes  round 
me,  in  defense  of  the  queen?  Suffered  thou  her 
to  be  carried  away  without  pursuit,  without  a 
struggle?  " 

"  Yea,  O  king,  we  made  pursuit,  and  ran  to 
take  the  queen,  but  failed.  Every  man  among  us 
ran,  and  women  too,  but  we  were  no  match  for  the 
fleet  horses  of  the  monks  ?  " 

"  Monks  ?     Benedictines  again  ?  " 

"  Yea !  For  in  the  chamber  a  cowl  was  found, 
and  written  in  it  the  name  of  Oslac." 

"  God  pity  the  woman  who  falls  into  the  hands 
of  Oslac !  "  muttered  Eadmund  to  himself,  as  he 
laid  the  wounded  messenger  on  the  ground. 

"  Oslac !  "  cried  the  king,  in  a  frenzy  of  pas- 
sion, almost  beside  himself  with  the  outrage  on  the 
queen,  this  new  insult  offered  him,  the  subtle  craft 


A     CROWN     OF     GLORY 

of  the  foe.  "  Ah !  Traitors  and  cowards  every 
one !  By  day  they  offer  terms  of  peace.  By  night 
they  seek  to  win,  by  deeds  dark  and  foul,  what 
they  know  they  could  not  wrest  from  me  in  open 
fight.  To  horse!  To  horse!  We  shall  pursue, 
and  wo  to  the  monks  when  we  overtake  them ! " 

The  word  of  command  was  greeted  by  the  royal 
army  with  a  cheer  that  struck  terror  into  the  won- 
dering rebels.  The  strength  and  daring  roused 
by  this  fresh  wrong  might  carry  them  to  victory. 
The  eyes  of  every  thane  leaped  with  fire,  their 
lips  closed  firmly,  their  hands  grasped  at  their 
swords. 

"  Raise  me  up !  "  cried  the  old  warrior,  already 
in  the  valley,  and  wandering.  "  Lift  me  up. 
Give  me  my  spear  that  I  may  hurl  it  once  again. 
Nearer,  nearer!  My  sight  is  dim  this  summer 
morn. 

"  Fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end !  Better  defeat, 
wounds,  death,  fighting  for  the  right,  for  the 
sorrowing  and  oppressed,  for  virgin  souls  that 
weep  and  cry  to  Heaven,  than  base  submission. 

"  Nearer,  nearer !  What  can  that  light  be  ? 
It  is  dazzling  me  this  summer  morn.  Nearer !  Oh, 
it  is  bright !  And  some  one  is  coming  in  the  glory. 
225 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Who?  The  Chief  Shepherd  appearing — nearer, 
nearer,  smiling,  and  offering  me — me — me  a  crown 
of  glory — that  fadeth  not  away.  My  Lord  and 
my  God " 

And  so  whispering,  Turketul  reached  forward 
as  if  to  take  something  in  his  hands,  smiled,  and 
fell  back  upon  his  shield  for  the  last  time. 

The  Chief  Shepherd  had  appeared  and  the  old 
warrior  had  received  the  crown  of  glory  that 
fadeth  not  away. 


226 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE    MANTLE    OF    POWER 

THE  dying  Turketul  gave  life  to  the  royal 
troops.  Not  a  man  among  them  closed  his  heart 
to  the  pathos  of  the  scene.  And  when  the  spirit 
winged  its  flight  away  its  strength  and  passion 
fell  like  a  mantle  on  the  wondering  throng.  Death 
was  beautiful  now  and  no  gift  to  be  desired  like 
the  crown  Turketul  had  won. 

The  old  warrior  had  scarce  entered  the  glory 
ere  the  fleshy  Kynesige  stalked  forth  from  the 
abbey  again  to  receive  the  king's  answer.  Proud 
and  overbearing,  haughty  and  insolent,  and  con- 
fident of  victory,  he  drew  near  and  cried: 

"  In  the  name  of  Holy  Church,  and  the  most 
noble  Odo,  I  command  you  to  surrender,  on  pain 
of  death  and  eternal  shame.  What  say  ye?  " 

"  This  is  our  answer,"  shouted  the  king,  and 
lifting  his  spear,  he  hurled  it  full  at  the  ample 
body  of  the  fleshy  Kynesige. 

At  the  same  moment  ten  thousand  spears 
227 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

flashed    in   the    morning   light   and    ten   thousand 
throats  shouted  with  might: 

"  That  is  our  answer !  " 

The  astonished  bishop  turned  and  fled,  terror- 
stricken. 

Then,  standing  over  the  dead  body  of  Turke- 
tul,  the  king  drew  his  sword,  touched  the  brow  of 
the  old  warrior  with  its  point,  lifted  it  to  heaven, 
and  cried: 

"  By  the  spirit  of  him  who  now  is  with 
thee,  Lord,  I  swear  to  fight  to  the  bitter  end  or 
die." 

Ten  thousand  spears  again  flashed  in  the 
morning  light,  and  ten  thousand  faces,  looking 
heavenward,  echoed  the  vow  of  the  king. 

"  For  king  and  country ! "  cried  the  brow- 
scarred  Alfric. 

"  For  the  honor  of  the  queen ! "  added  the 
dark-eyed  Ethelsige. 

"  For  virgin  souls  that  weep !  "  whispered  the 
faithful  Eadmund. 

"  Now,  leave  all  and  follow  me,"  cried  the 
king,  mounting  his  steed  and  rushing  down  the 
slopes  to  the  river. 

The  whole  army  instantly  arose  and  followed 
228 


THE     MANTLE     OF     POWER 

him,  horsemen  and  footmen,  dashing  down  the 
slopes,  fearless  of  death,  and  eager  for  fight. 

Leaping  into  the  river  and  on  to  the  rafts, 
they  were  across  the  Ver  and  dashing  full  tilt 
against  the  East-Anglians  before  the  rebels  could 
recover  from  surprise. 

Riding  with  fury  the  king  and  his  thanes 
broke  through  the  lines  of  the  foe,  and  soaked 
their  swords  in  blood. 

Rushing  behind  the  horsemen,  the  royal  foot- 
men dashed  into  the  broken  crowd  of  rebels. 

No  foe  could  resist  their  fierce  and  determined 
onslaught.  For  a  moment  only  the  Anglians  ral- 
lied, then  fell  into  confusion  and  fled. 

Eagerly  pursuing,  the  king  and  the  royal 
troops  harrowed  the  flying  rebels,  and  dyed  the 
green  corn  red  with  blood.  The  spirit  of  the 
dead  warrior  had  given  strength  to  every  sword. 

Then,  leaving  Alfric  and  Ethelsige  to  complete 
the  rout,  the  king  took  Eadmund  and  a  company 
of  the  royal  thanes  and  rode  away  to  Glastonbury, 
vowing  vengeance  on  the  lustful  Oslac,  and  hoping 
against  hope  he  might  yet  save  the  captive  queen. 


229 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE    PRIEST    OF    THE    LIGHTED    SKULL 

OSLAC  had  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on 
the  success  of  his  move  in  the  dark.  Five  hours 
ago  he  was  forcing  his  will  on  the  puckered  pri- 
mate, and  now  his  wish  was  gratified.  The  queen 
lay  across  his  flying  steed,  clasped  in  his  arms 
at  last! 

Pursuit  he  little  feared,  knowing  full  well  there 
were  few  at  court  able  to  attempt  the  task.  Yet 
was  he  anxious  to  put  as  great  a  distance  as  pos- 
sible between  himself  and  the  king. 

Riding  on,  he  crossed  the  Thames,  passed 
through  Staines,  nor  halted  till  he  came  by 
Egham  to  the  fair  shores  of  Virginia  Water. 
Here  he  dismounted,  bathed  the  face  of  the  un- 
conscious queen,  and  rested  his  weary  horses. 

It  was  nearly  dawn.  The  moon  was  low  in  the 
west,  and  the  green  corn  was  waving  in  the  sum- 
mer breeze.  The  silver  salmon  were  sporting  in 
the  streams,  and  a  sagacious  beaver  was  making 
230 


LIGHTED     SKULL 

merry  in  the  moonlit  waters  of  the  lake.  Fain 
would  Oslac  have  lingered  had  not  the  beautiful 
Elgiva  appealed  to  him  still  more. 

Mounting  their  steeds  again,  Oslac  and  his 
Benedictines  rode  away  over  the  plains  of  Ascot 
till  they  came  to  sleepy  Oakingham  in  the  shade 
of  Windsor  Forest.  And  here  they  were  forced 
to  rest  their  horses  again. 

They  halted  in  the  depths  of  the  forest.  The 
moon  had  sunk,  and  the  deep  darkness  that  pre- 
cedes the  dawn  had  settled  on  the  earth.  Oslac 
dismounted,  fanned  the  face  of  the  still  uncon- 
scious queen,  laid  her  softly  on  a  grassy  slope, 
covered  her  with  his  cloak,  and  went  to  join  his 
Benedictines. 

The  first  shafts  of  day  shot  through  the  forest. 
The  faint  crimson  streaks  fell  on  the  quivering 
leaves  and  mingled  with  the  murky  gray.  The 
great  tall  trunks  lifted  themselves  like  mighty 
giants  from  the  earth  and  stretched  themselves  in 
the  morning  light. 

The   sun   rose   and   filled   the   forest   with   its 

golden  beams.     The  trunks  and  branches  cast  long 

and   devious   shadows   along   the    ground.      Light 

and  shade,  crimson  and  gray,  intermingled  in  won- 

231 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

derful  and  intricate  mosaic  on  the  gorgeous  carpet 
of  the  forest  and  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  Bene- 
dictines. 

The  morning  breeze  moved  among  the  leaves 
of  the  forest  and  troubled  them.  They  quivered 
and  trembled.  And  the  sunlight  playing  on  them 
cast  countless  myriads  of  tiny  shadows  on  the  floor 
of  the  forest,  a  multitudinous  host  of  bits  of  shim- 
mering gold  and  gray,  trembling  and  quivering 
unceasingly. 

The  spirit  of  dawn  entered  the  soul  of  Elgiva 
and  slowly  woke  her.  She  opened  her  eyes  and 
saw  the  crimson  spread  across  the  sky.  She  gazed 
on  it  wearily,  as  if  but  half  awake.  Then  her 
eyelids  crept  over  her  sight  and  all  was  dark 
again. 

She  lay  like  one  dead,  yet  conscious  of  life. 
The  cool  morning  air  fanned  her  face  and  laved 
her  temples.  She  opened  her  lips  and  drew  it 
deeply  into  her  lungs.  She  heard  the  rustling  of 
the  breeze  among  the  dank  grass,  and  the  sound 
was  pleasant  to  her  ears. 

She  opened  her  eyes  again  and  looked,  and  saw 
Oslac  and  his  Benedictines  resting  by  a  fire.  She 
turned  and  saw  the  forest  behind  her.  They  sate 
232 


LIGHTED     SKULL 

in  an  open  space  surrounded  by  trees  and  she  lay 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  forest. 

She  lay  long  and  gathered  her  thoughts  to- 
gether. The  events  of  the  night  came  crowding 
back  to  her,  and  the  consciousness  of  her  present 
peril  vividly  dawned.  She  looked  toward  the  for- 
est and  then  toward  the  monks.  Her  breath  came 
quickly.  Would  it  be  possible  to  escape?  The 
lights  and  shadows  trembled  and  quivered.  She 
shut  her  eyes  and  pondered. 

The  Benedictines  looked  toward  her  now  and 
again,  waiting  for  her  to  wake,  and  once  Oslac 
came  and  stood  over  her  and  gazed  at  her  long. 
She  held  her  breath,  and  seemed  to  him  as  one  dead. 

For  long  after  Oslac  had  looked  on  her  she  lay 
motionless  as  death.  Then  she  warily  opened  her 
eyes  and  scanned  her  captors.  They  were  making 
their  morning  meal. 

She  raised  herself  slowly  on  her  hands  and 
turned  toward  the  forest.  She  would  creep 
stealthily  away  and  hide  or  run  and  run  for  life 
and  liberty.  She  moved  on  her  hands  beneath  the 
cloak,  and  stole  a  few  paces  forward.  But  no 
sooner  did  she  begin  to  move  than  she  fell  on  her 
face  with  a  little  gasping  cry.  Two  pairs  of 
16  233 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

piercing  eyes  were  watching  her  from  the  shelter 
of  the  underwood! 

She  lay  long  before  she  dared  look  again. 
Then  she  half  opened  her  eyes,  and  peered  fear- 
fully into  the  forest.  Her  breath  came  faster 
than  before.  Two  faces,  as  of  an  old  man  and 
woman,  crouching  low  upon  the  ground,  stared  at 
her,  and  beckoned  her,  and  made  signs  to  her  to 
come.  She  scanned  them  anxiously  and  trembled. 
Their  looks  haunted  her  memory. 

Quickly  she  cast  a  glance  behind  her;  quickly 
raised  herself  on  her  hands;  and  quickly  crept 
toward  the  wood.  Her  excitement  was  intense  and 
her  limbs  were  feeble.  The  faces  beckoned  her 
and  urged  her  on. 

Only  a  few  paces  and  she  was  by  their  sides. 
They  rose,  and  hastily  drew  her  within  their 
shelter. 

But  just  then  a  string  twanged  and  an  arrow 
swished  through  the  air.  And  the  old  woman 
threw  up  her  hands,  uttered  a  loud,  shrill  cry,  and 
fell  backward,  with  an  arrow  in  her  breast.  And 
the  air  rang  with  the  shouts  of  Oslac. 

The  old  man  lifted  the  queen  in  his  arms  and 
darted  off  with  the  strength  of  a  giant.  Quick 
234. 


LIGHTED     SKULL 

as  a  horse  he  dashed  away  and  tore  through  the 
forest.  And  quick  as  a  hound  the  fleet-footed 
Oslac  darted  after  him. 

Away  through  the  forest  the  old  man  flew  for 
life  and  liberty.  Away  in  his  track  the  Benedic- 
tines sprang.  And  away  into  the  covert  of  the 
underwood  the  old  woman  crept,  with  the  arrow 
in  her  breast. 

On  and  on  the  old  man  sped,  swift  as  a  horse. 
But  ere  he  had  covered  a  furlong  he  staggered  and 
fell,  with  an  arrow  in  his  back. 

And  as  he  fell  he  turned  and  faced  his  slayer. 
His  nostrils  were  extended.  His  mouth  defiant. 
His  eyes  afire. 

Instantly  Oslac  halted,  drew  back  a  pace,  lifted 
his  hands  in  wonder,  and  uttered  a  low,  sharp  cry 
of  fear.  It  was  the  priest  of  the  lighted  skull! 


235 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE    MERCY    OF    A    MONK 

QUICKLY  recovering  from  his  surprise  at  thus 
meeting  the  priest  of  the  lighted  skull,  Oslac 
snatched  the  queen  from  his  arms  and  carried  her 
away.  Greatly  fearing  a  further  attempt  at  res- 
cue, and  greatly  frightened  lest  even  now  he 
should  lose  her,  he  flung  Elgiva  across  his  steed 
and  rode  away. 

Keeping  an  anxious  eye  on  every  hand,  they 
threaded  their  course  through  the  great  forest, 
and  pushed  on  and  came  ere  noon  across  the 
Blackwater  and  along  the  banks  of  the  Lodden 
to  the  picturesque  town  of  Basing,  nor  halted  till 
they  entered  the  stoke  of  that  name.  Thence 
over  the  North  Downs  they  hurried,  past  White- 
church  and  Hurstbourne  Priors,  till  they  arrived 
at  Monkston,  where  they  rested  for  the  night. 

Rising  early  as  dawn,  they  entered  Salisbury 
Plain,  rode  past  the  mystic  circle  of  Stonehenge, 
and  pressed  on  till  they  came  to  Maiden  Bradley. 
236 


THE     MERCY     OF     A     MONK 

Here  they  plunged  into  the  great  forest  of  Sel- 
wood,  inhabited  by  wolves  and  wild  boars  and 
infested  with  highway  robbers  and  notorious  out- 
laws, nor  left  it  till  they  had  encountered  many 
perils. 

Twice  their  path  was  blocked  by  robbers,  and 
twice  they  were  forced  to  turn  and  make  a  long 
and  devious  circuit.  Thrice  they  crossed  small 
bands  of  the  same  and  rode  through  them,  full 
tilt.  Once  they  found  themselves  out-maneuvered, 
surrounded  and  outnumbered,  and  obliged  to  pay 
excessive  toll.  The  grim  outlaw  pointed  to  the 
queen  and  demanded  more.  And  not  till  they  had 
paid  unto  the  uttermost  were  they  permitted  to 
pass.  Then  just  as  they  left  the  forest  they  were 
forced  to  make  a  final  dash  for  liberty.  Even  as 
they  entered  the  open  a  shower  of  arrows  rained 
upon  them.  Two  Benedictines  reeled  in  their  sad- 
dles and  fell.  An  arrow  plunged  into  the  crest 
of  Oslac's  steed;  had  it  been  but  an  inch  lower  it 
must  have  entered  the  throat  of  Elgiva.  The 
horse  reared  and  almost  threw  them.  And  for  a 
moment  all  was  confusion.  But  they  settled, 
darted  forward,  and  galloped  through  without 
further  hurt. 

237 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Thus,  after  many  adventures  and  escapes, 
they  came  at  last  to  Glastonbury  at  set  of  sun. 
The  walls  of  the  abbey,  radiant  with  the  setting 
glory,  made  a  welcome  sight  for  the  eager  eyes  of 
Oslac.  He  entered  its  share  with  joy. 

Now  was  Elgiva  his  at  last!  His,  after  sche- 
ming and  struggling  long  to  win  her;  his,  after 
enduring  the  life  of  a  monk  for  two  weary  years 
in  hope  of  winning  her,  as  Dunstan  had  hinted; 
his,  in  the  very  place  where  instead  of  praying 
he  had  dreamed  of  her,  instead  of  mortifying  the 
flesh  he  had  pampered  it,  and  instead  of  obeying 
King  Eadred's  dying  will,  had  striven  to  stir  up 
anarchy  in  the  realm.  That  very  night  he  would 
woo  and  win  her  by  love — or  by  force. 

At  midnight,  therefore,  he  came  to  the  cell 
of  the  queen  and  stole  quietly  in.  Elgiva,  dressed 
in  a  garb  of  a  nun,  was  kneeling  before  a  private 
altar,  in  front  of  which  were  burning  three  tiny 
Oriental  lamps,  revealing  a  crucifix  above,  wrought 
in  silver,  with  the  figure  of  the  Saviour  beautifully 
beaten  by  the  skilful  hand  of  Dunstan.  The  un- 
finished Virgin  beside  it  we  have  seen  before. 

The  monk  stood  watching  her  a  moment,  un- 
moved by  the  tears  that  long  had  streamed  down 
238 


THE     MERCY     OF     A     MONK 

her  face,  and  unseen  by  the  straining  eyes   that 
looked  to  the  cross  for  help. 

"  Elgiva ! "  he  hoarsely  whispered,  moving 
toward  her. 

The  queen  started,  shuddered,  shrank  from 
him,  and  cast  herself  prostrate  before  the  Virgin. 

"  Holy  Mother,  save  thy  helpless  child ! " 

"Elgiva!  Dost  thou  hear?  I  have  come. 
Rise,  fair  cousin.  Prayers  do  not  move  the  heart 
of  Oslac." 

The  queen  answered  not  but  prayed  the  more. 

"  Holy  Mother,  save  thy  child !  Son  of  Mary, 
hear  my  cry,  hear  my  cry,  and  keep  my  garments 
white!" 

"  Rise,  Elgiva,  and  let  us  speak  together. 
Thou  hast  harshly  judged  thy  cousin.  He  loves 
thee  well  and  comes  to  succor  thee." 

"  Nay,  Oslac,  nay !  Get  thee  from  me !  Leave 
me  with  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  touch  me  not ! " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  harm  thee,  sweet  Elgiva, 
but  would  reason  with  thee.  Come!  Give  me  thy 
hand." 

"  Oh,  spare  me  from  shame,  Oslac !  Save  thy 
soul  from  further  guilt  and  from  God's  wrath  that 
will  surely  come !  " 

239 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  God  or  heaven's  wrath. 
I  fear  them  not.  Rise,  Elgiva,  rise.  I  have  come 
to  woo  thee  by  love — or  by  force.  Choose,  and 
remember  I  mean  to  have  my  will,  at  last !  " 

"Thy  will!  Holy  Mother,  save  thy  child! 
Son  of  Mary,  hear  me!  Oh,  keep  my  garments 
white!" 

"  Listen,  Elgiva.  Thou  art  Edwy's  no  more. 
Holy  Church  hath  declared  thou  art  neither  wife 
nor  queen.  To-night  thou  art  an  outcast  of  soci- 
ety, a  harlot-queen  banished  to  Ireland,  branded 
with  the  mark  of  shame.  But  I  love  thee,  have 
loved  thee  from  childhood  with  a  great  and  pas- 
sionate love,  have  endured  hardship  and  insult  all 
for  thee,  and  for  thy  sake  have  sinned  and  schemed. 
Now,  in  thy  shame,  I  ask  thee  to  be  mine,  Elgiva. 
Then,  come  what  may,  Oslac  will  save  thee  from 
thyself,  redeem  thee  from  the  Church's  doom, 
bring  thee  back  to  life  and  all  the  joys  of  wedlock. 
If  not,  banishment,  misery,  shame,  death,  all  lie 
before  thee.  Choose,  Elgiva,  and  say  thou  wilt  be 
mine !  " 

"  Nay,  Oslac,  that  can  never  be.     Edwy's  I 
am  and  Edwy's  ever  shall  be.    Well  dost  thou  know 
our  union  is  holy  and  I  am  still  his  queen." 
240 


"  By  Church  decree  thou  art  queen  no  longer, 
denied  the  name  of  wife.  Edwy  can  not  save  thee 
from  that  ban.  Oslac  can.  Dunstan  hath  prom- 
ised that.  Renounce  the  king  at  once,  Elgiva, 
and  let  us  kneel  together  before  the  holy  cross. 
Then  wilt  thou  be  mine." 

"  Never,  Oslac,  never !  " 

"  Thou  art  in  my  power,  Elgiva,  and  must 
needs  obey  me  now.  My  passion  is  great.  My 
love  is  uncontrolled.  I  plead  with  thee  to  save 
thee  from  a  further  shame ! " 

"  Never !  Away  with  thee !  Away !  Stain 
not  thy  life  with  that  great  sin!  Away,  Oslac, 
away !  " 

"  Come,  Elgiva.  Be  persuaded,  else  naught  on 
earth  will  save  thee." 

He  laid  his  hands  upon  her  and  came  to  her 
side. 

"  Heaven  shall,  or  some  day  recompense  thee ! 
Stay,  Oslac,  stay  !  " 

"  Nay,  Elgiva ! "  he  answered,  kneeling  down 
beside  her. 

"  Oh,  have  mercy  on  me,  Oslac,  have  mercy !  " 
Elgiva  cried. 

"  '  Mercy '  ? "    wildly    laughed    he    in    reply. 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Mercy    from    a    monk  ?      Nay,    not    of    Oslac's 
stamp,  Benedictine  though  he  be !     Come !  " 

"  Save  me,  save  me,  Holy  Mother !  Hear  me, 
Son  of  Mary !  Ah,  look  at  the  cross,  Oslac ! 
Oslac !  It  speaks  to  thee !  " 

At  this  moment  a  flaw  in  the  lamp  in  front  of 
the  crucifix  gave  way,  and  the  oil  igniting  on  the 
altar  seemed  to  set  the  Christ  on  fire. 

"The  cross?  What  care  I  for  the  Fellow?" 
Oslac  answered,  pale  and  angry. 

Then  leaping  to  his  feet,  in  fury  and  sacrilege 
he  hurled  the  crucifix  from  the  wall  and  swept  the 
lamps  aside  with  a  curse. 

"  Now,"  he  cried,  bounding  back  to  the  queen, 
"  now  thou  shalt  be  mine !  Come !  Come !  " 

"  Never !  Oh,  have  mercy  on  me !  Ah,  look, 
Oslac!  Look!  Thy  gown  is  on  fire!  Look! 
Away !  Away !  " 

It  was  truly  so.  When  he  swept  the  lamps  from 
the  altar  the  oil  had  fallen  on  his  Benedictine  gown 
and  taken  fire.  In  a  moment  he  was  all  aflame. 

"  O  God ! "  he  shrieked,  as  if  he  felt  the  hand 
of  heaven  upon  him. 

Then  howling,  cursing,  blaspheming,  he  rushed 
from  the  cell,  glowing  like  a  burning  fiend. 
242 


THE     MERCY     OF     A     MONK 

The  queen  lay  prostrate  before  the  fallen 
Christ,  full  of  praise  and  adoration. 

"  Thou  hast  heard  me,  Son  of  Mary !  Thou 
hast  answered  my  prayer!  Thou  art  the  Merci- 
ful One!  Thou  hast  saved  me!  Thou  hast  kept 
my  garments  white !  " 


CHAPTER    XXX 

THE    PERSECUTION    OF    BEAUTY 

SIGWULF,  remembering  the  commands  of  Odo, 
proceeded  to  put  them  into  execution  the  morning 
following.  The  wild  barbarian  that  lurked  under 
the  Benedictine  gown  would  brook  no  delay.  For- 
swear the  king,  or  be  branded  with  red-hot  irons 
and  banished  to  Ireland,  would  the  beautiful  queen 
that  day. 

To  do  him  honor,  Oslac  revolted  from  the  deed. 
Enough  for  him  that  Elgiva  was  stolen  from  the 
king  and  in  reach  of  his  embraces.  The  judg- 
ment of  last  night  lingered  with  him  and  made 
him  tremble  somewhat,  but  had  not  yet  fought  its 
way  to  the  gates  of  conscience.  Despite  the  fail- 
ure of  that  experience,  he  was  not  without  hope 
that  imprisonment  and  monastic  hardship  would 
bring  her  round  to  his  will. 

The  behests  of  virtue  Oslac  could  not  under- 
stand, or  the  woman  that  would  endure,  and  gladly 
endure,  would  suffer  and  die,  to  keep  her  gar- 
244 


PERSECUTION     OF     BEAUTY 

ments  white.  He  had  walked  so  long  in  the  mire 
he  could  not  now  appraise  the  snow.  He  had 
looked  so  long  on  the  brute  he  could  not  believe  in 
the  angel.  He  had  loved  the  sensual  so  much  he 
had  no  heart  for  the  spiritual.  As  with  a  red- 
hot  iron  his  conscience  had  been  seared,  and  now 
was  so  hard  that  the  angels  of  truth  knocked  in 
vain.  He  saw  no  beauty  in  a  white  rose  and  felt 
no  fragrance  in  its  breath.  He  heard  no  music 
in  the  gospel  of  Christ  and  caught  not  the  wail 
of  the  spirit. 

So  he  could  not  understand,  except  in 
vague,  far-off  sense,  the  lofty  soul  of  her  he  fain 
would  woo.  Fidelity  and  love  so  strong  that 
naught  but  death  could  sever,  he  smiled  and 
winked  at,  as  he  smiled  at  the  life  and  faith  of 
monks.  There  were  ways  of  plucking  every  flower 
that  blooms,  he  thought,  and  no  shame  to  the 
flower  or  the  wearer. 

Elgiva  he  loved  in  a  great,  deep,  passionate 
sense,  as  he  had  loved  no  other,  and  for  her  sake 
he  would  endure  much.  Her  lovely  face  he  loved, 
and  her  form  of  sumptuous  grace  that  fasci- 
nated his  sight  and  fostered  thoughts  of  passion- 
ate joy. 

245 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Thus  when  Sigwulf  proposed  to  brand  the 
Beauty  Oslac  protested  and  rebelled. 

"  There  is  no  cause  for  haste.  She  is  in  the 
power  of  Holy  Church  and  can  not  escape  her 
sentence.  Give  her  time  to  repent  of  her  sin,  to 
renounce  the  king  and  walk  in  the  paths  of  pen- 
ance. Then  will  Holy  Church  have  won  a  soul ! " 

"  Nay ! "  answered  Sigwulf  the  barbarian. 
"  We  must  not  delay.  'Twas  Odo's  last  command 
to  me,  and  must  be  obeyed.  To-morrow  may  be 
too  late.  A  branded  woman,  robbed  of  her  beauty, 
no  man  will  take  to  his  bosom — no,  not  even  Edwy 
the  Fair.  Our  work  we  must  make  sure.  Who 
knows  that  the  king  may  not  soon  be  here  ?  " 

"  The  king  knows  not  where  to  look  for  her, 
and  is  too  weak  to  search  the  land.  Did  not  we 
leave  him  surrounded  on  the  banks  of  the  Ver? 
There  is  no  cause  for  fear.  Thy  kinsman  will  see 
to  it  that  Eadwine  does  not  trouble  us.  Let  us 
rest  after  our  ride  and  see  if  the  Beauty  will  not 
repent." 

"  Better  the  primate's  will  performed  and  the 
queen's  beauty  spoiled  for  ay,  than  risk  her  cap- 
ture by  the  king.  That  may  be  small,  but  it  must 
not  be  forgotten.  'Tis  her  beauty  captivates  the 
246 


PERSECUTION     OF     BEAUTY 

Fair,  or  long  since  he  would  have  hearkened  unto 
Odo.  And  no  wonder,  for  even  a  monk,  who  has 
forsworn  all  women,  can  feel  the  charm  of  her 
loveliness.  Eh,  Oslac?  " 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  capture,  none  at  all.  So 
why  make  haste  to  take  the  beauty  from  a  face 
that  hath  power  to  charm  *  even  a  monk  '  with  its 
loveliness?  Eh,  Sigwulf  ?  " 

"  Once  already  thou  hast  heard  royal  troops 
thunder  at  the  gates  of  Glastonbury.  We  will 
not  wait  for  them  a  second  time,  Oslac." 

"  Yea,  but  there  was  no  fear  of  capture  then, 
and  sure  there  is  less  now.  At  the  sound  of  pur- 
suers we  could  easily  away,  and  smile  at  them 
as  we  sailed  across  the  rolling  sea." 

"  Even  now  the  boat  tarries  for  us,"  answered 
Sigwulf.      "  We  must   away   to-day.      The   irons  • 
are  hot.     Let  the  deed  be  done  at  once,  and  then, 
come   what   may,   Holy    Church   shall   have    con- 
quered ! " 

"Nay!     It  must  not  be!" 

"'Must  not'?  Oslac!  Hath  the  Beauty 
charmed  thee  also?  Dost  thou  love  the  harlot 
too?  Is  there  joy  in  her  embraces?  " 

"What  though?" 

247 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  This,  Oslac,  this :  '  Brand  her  with  red-hot 
irons,'  said  Odo,  '  and  let  the  scars  be  deep.  Then 
banish  her  to  Ireland,  and  make  sure  no  one  inter- 
feres.' So  Odo  commanded  Sigwulf,  and  so  Sig- 
wulf  will  perform  without  delay !  " 

"  Brand  her  with  red-hot  irons  thou  shalt  not 
while  Oslac  lives,"  answered  Oslac  with  great  pas- 
sion. 

"  *  Shalt  not '  ?  Have  a  care,  Oslac,  have  a 
care !  It  was  not  for  naught  Odo  sent  these  trusty 
men." 

"  I  care  not.  Thou  shalt  not.  Dare,  and  this 
stout  seax  will  bite  thy  heart !  " 

"  Oho,  Oslac,  oho !  Lovest  thou  the  charmer 
so  dearly?  So  Odo  feared.  Wait,  and  thou  shalt 
see  thy  darling  smile  and  her  pale  cheeks  grow 
rosy! " 

He  stepped  to  the  fire,  and  lifted  the  irons  out 
with  fiendish  glee.  They  were  white  with  heat. 

"  Look,  Oslac,  and  say  dost  thou  think  them 
hot  enough  to  burn  the  roses  ?  " 

Fuming  with  anger,  Oslac  darted  toward  him, 
short  seax  in  hand,  crying: 

"  Thou  shalt  not !     Fling  them  away,  or  soon 
thy  blood  will  stain  the  chamber ! " 
248 


PERSECUTION     OF     BEAUTY 

"  Seize  him !  "  shouted  Sigwulf  to  the  primate's 
men. 

With  a  rush  they  fell  on  Oslac  and  overpow- 
ered him,  but  not  before  the  seax  entered  the  neck 
of  Sigwulf. 

In  vain  he  struggled  in  their  grasp  and  threat- 
ened with  the  curse  of  Dunstan.  Sigwulf  only 
smiled  and  mocked  his  prowess. 

"  Bring  her  in !  "  he  shouted.  "  Bring  the 
darling  to  his  side.  And  with  his  own  eyes  Oslac 
will  see  his  charmer  branded  with  the  mark  of 
shame  and  watch  the  roses  bloom  on  her  damask 
cheek.  Away!  Bring  the  Beauty  in." 

Pale  with  dread,  they  brought  the  queen  from 
her  cell  to  the  abbot's  chamber,  and  stood  her  in 
the  midst.  Dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  nun,  her 
beautiful  face  was  laden  with  sorrow  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  wo.  Even  Sigwulf  marked  her  queenly 
bearing  and  was  impressed. 

"  Art  thou  the  queen  ?  " 

"  Thou  sayest  it,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice, 
soft  and  sad. 

"  In  the  name  of  Holy  Church  thou  art 
commanded  to  repent  and  forswear  the  king, 
on  pain  of  branding  with  the  mark  of  shame 
17  249 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

and  banishment  from  the  realm.  What  sayest 
thou  ?  " 

The  queen  was  silent. 

Then  Sigwulf  questioned  her  in  many  words, 
but  she  answered  him  nothing.  She  stood  before 
him  pleading  her  cause  with  the  noiseless  power 
of  innocence.  To  persevere  in  one's  duty  and  be 
silent  she  deemed  the  best  answer  to  calumny. 

But  her  silence  infuriated  the  barbarian  under 
the  Benedictine  gown  of  Sigwulf. 

With  the  primate's  men  he  set  her  at  naught, 
and  mocked  her,  and  arrayed  her  in  a  gorgeous 
robe  and  brought  her  to  Oslac,  crying: 

"  Behold  thy  queen !  " 

"  Is  not  thy  charmer  fair?  " 

"  Wouldst  thou  embrace  her,  Oslac?  " 

Oslac  groaned  and  fumed  at  his  helplessness. 
His  soul  burned  with  rage  and  indignation,  and 
vainly  he  struggled  to  be  free.  Falling  on  his 
knees  he  lifted  his  voice  above  the  din  in  loud  and 
earnest  imprecation. 

"  Let  be !  "  shouted  Sigwulf.  "  Let  us  see  him 
make  love  to  his  queen ! " 

There  were  tears  on  Oslac's  face  when  he 
turned  his  eyes  from  Sigwulf  to  the  trembling 
250 


PERSECUTION     OF     BEAUTY 

queen.     Love  was  in  his  voice,  and  gave  his  words 
passion  and  plaintive  pathos. 

"  Think,  Elgiva,  oh  think,  and  do  as  thou  art 
bid.  It  is  Holy  Church's  order,  and  surely  it  can 
not  err?  At  least  there  is  no  escape.  It  is  life 
or  death  thou  art  choosing  now.  Pain,  and  mis- 
ery, and  banishment,  and  shame,  all  lie  before  thee, 
if  thou  wilt  not  renounce  the  king.  Think,  El- 
giva, and  forswear  him  now." 

"Never,  Oslac!" 

"  Is  not  life  better  than  death,  at  any  cost  ? 
Is  not  joy  preferable  to  pain?  Is  not  the  sum- 
mer's brightness  lovelier  than  winter's  gloom? 
Think,  Elgiva,  think !  I  love  thee,  and  plead  with 
thee.  Do  as  I  entreat,  and  thy  beauty  will  shine 
through  many  summers  yet  to  come,  and  pleasure 
still  be  thine.  Forswear  him  now." 

"  Never !  'Tis  our  duty  to  be  true,  to  do  the 
right,  at  any  cost.  'Twas  so  the  Saviour  bore  the 
painful  cross.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love,  Oslac, 
but  that  can  never  be.  Go  thou  and  repent  and 
turn  to  God  and  do  works  meet  for  repentance. 
For  godly  sorrow,  such  as  thou  hast  now,  worketh 
repentance  to  salvation.  Wo  is  me  that  worldly 
sorrow  worketh  death !  " 

251 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Think,  Elgiva,  think !  Do  not  cast  thy  life 
away.  Fearful  is  the  stream,  and  black  the  ship 
on  which  thou'lt  sail  to  the  shining  sea  and  the 
golden  strand.  Stay  awhile,  and  let  thy  heart 
be  merry." 

The  queen  was  silent  and  rested  in  prayer. 

"  Good,  Oslac,  good ! "  broke  in  the  mon- 
strous Sigwulf .  "  'Twas  very  entertaining.  Love 
gave  thee  supple  speech.  And  now  for  the 
roses ! " 

Then,  turning  to  the  queen: 

"  Wilt  thou  forswear  him  ?  " 

But  she  answered  him  not  a  word. 

"  Bind  her !  "  he  cried  with  an  oath.  "  Bind 
her !  Cover  her  eyes  that  she  see  not !  Now,  Oslac, 
now  look  and  see  the  roses  bloom !  " 

With  his  own  hand  the  Dane  took  the  red-hot 
iron  from  the  fire. 

The  blood  of  Oslac  bounded  through  his  heart 
at  the  sight.  All  his  scheming  to  end  in  this! 
All  his  dreams  to  vanish  thus!  The  beauty  on 
which  he  had  set  his  life  to  be  so  destroyed!  His 
heart's  desire  to  perish  in  this  way!  He  shook 
with  a  frenzy  of  passion  but  could  not  struggle 
free. 

252 


PERSECUTION     OF     BEAUTY 

"  Look,  Oslac,  look !  "  shouted  Sigwulf ,  mock- 
ing his  fury.  "  Look !  The  roses  bloom !  " 

At  the  first  shriek  of  the  queen  the  strength 
of  love  came  on  Oslac  and  tore  him  from  his  cap- 
tors' grasp. 

With  an  angry  shout  he  sprang  on  the  wild 
barbarian  and  dashed  him  to  the  ground. 

But  in  a  twinkling  Odo's  men  were  down  on 
him.  One  blow,  and  Oslac  lay  unconscious  at  their 
feet.  Thus,  in  the  mercy  of  God,  he  did  not  see 
the  roses  bloom. 

Next  moment  the  queen  was  carried  away,  un- 
conscious too.  On  either  cheek  was  a  great,  deep 
scar,  black  and  bloody,  scorched  and  raw. 


253 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

LIFTING    THE    FALLEN    CHRIST 

AN  hour  later  Oslac  slowly  returned  to  con- 
sciousness in  the  queen's  cell,  whither  the  irony  of 
Sigwulf  had  borne  him.  Dazed  and  stupid,  he 
knew  not  where  he  was.  His  thoughts  fluttered 
confusedly  through  his  brain,  and  a  fearful  dread 
lay  on  his  heart.  Slowly  the  memory  of  the  last 
great  scene  returned  to  him.  His  first  care  was 
for  Elgiva. 

"The  queen?  Where  is  she?  Lying  by  my 
side  forsooth." 

He  groped  around  him  with  his  hands,  afraid 
to  open  his  eyes. 

"  No !    Not  by  my  side !    Lying  dead?  " 

For  a  moment  the  daring  Oslac  scarcely  dared 
to  draw  his  breath.  He  passed  his  hands  over 
his  temples  as  much  to  keep  his  eyes  closed  as 
soothe  the  pain  in  his  head. 

"Dead?     Brought  to  her  doom  by  Oslac!" 

He    groaned.      Then,    slowly    and    fearfully, 
opened  his  eyes  and  peered  around. 
254 


LIFTING     THE     FALLEN     CHRIST 

"  No,  not  here,"  he  sighed  with  relief,  "  there- 
fore not  dead.  Thank  God!  Away  to  her  ban- 
ishment ! " 

He  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow  and  looked 
around.  Astonishment  leaped  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  queen's  cell !  There  was  her  girdle,  and 
there  the  fallen  Christ ! " 

He  shuddered  and  turned  away  his  eyes. 

"The  door.     Was  it  locked?" 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  fell  back  again,  held  his 
head  in  his  hands  and  moaned.  Recovering  anon, 
he  slowly  crept  to  the  door  of  the  cell. 

"  Locked !  Trapped  like  a  fox !  The  pris- 
oner of  Holy  Church !  " 

He  clenched  his  teeth  and  scowled. 

"  Left,  I  suppose,  by  the  gentle  Sigwulf !  My 
thanks  to  him!  Thanks,  too,  that  on  my  cheeks 
he  did  not  make  the  roses  bloom !  The  devil !  How 
he  enjoyed  his  pretty  play!" 

Beaten,  thwarted,  fooled,  the  prisoner  groaned. 
The  fiends  of  guilt  and  despair  gathered  round 
his  soul. 

"What  now— life  or  death?" 

A  few  hours  ago  he  stood  in  the  same  cell, 
with  the  crown  within  his  reach  almost  and  the 
255 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

beautiful  Elgiva  within  his  arms — had  not  he 
wooed  so  fiercely!  So  Oslac  had  fancied. 

His  eyes  wandered  and  caught  sight  of  the 
fallen  Christ  again.  He  started  and  his  brow  grew 
darker.  He  scarce  dared  look  his  way. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  in  agony,  and  paced  the 
cell  with  trembling  steps,  as  he  realized  the  wreck 
of  his  life,  the  loss  of  his  hopes,  the  ruin  of  his 
ambition. 

"  Sigwulf  will  never  forget !  Nor  Odo !  Nor 
Dunstan !  Fool  that  I  was,  and  more  than  fool ! 
What  now  ?  A  prisoner  of  Holy  Church !  Mercy  ? 
Mercy  from  a  monk?  Mercy  from  Odo?  Death 
rather!  Nay,  my  course  is  run!  I  hear  the 
hounds  that  will  devour  me ! " 

He  came  to  a  standstill  and  gazed  on  death. 
The  fiends  of  guilt  and  despair  drew  nearer. 

"  No !  I  can  not  evade  them !  They  have  me 
at  every  turn!  No  use  running  farther!  No 
hope  striving  more!  The  crown?  What  worth 
without  the  queen?  Life?  Dark  without  the 
bright  Elgiva!  Robbed  of  her  marvelous  beauty! 
Branded  with  red-hot  irons!  Banished!  Worse 
than  dead !  And  all  because  of  me !  " 

Oslac  flung  himself  on  the  floor  and  covered 
256 


LIFTING     THE     FALLEN     CHRIST 

his  face  with  shame.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 
head  and  he  swooned  away  once  more. 

Slowly  consciousness  returned,  and  slowly  the 
queen's  words  came  to  him  as  he  opened  his  fear- 
ful eyes. 

"  '  Never,  Oslac  !  'Tis  our  duty  to  be  true,  to 
do  the  right,  at  any  cost.  'Twas  so  the  Saviour 
bore  the  painful  cross.  I  thank  thee,  Oslac,  for 
thy  love,  but  that  can  never  be.  Go  thou  and 
repent  and  turn  to  God  and  do  works  meet  for 
repentance.  For  godly  sorrow,  such  as  thou  hast 
now,  worketh  repentance  unto  salvation.  Wo  is 
me  that  worldy  sorrow  worketh  death ! ' 

His  heart  grew  tender  as  he  spoke  the  words, 
and  beheld  in  a  vision  the  beautiful  virtuous  queen. 
He  followed  her  back  through  the  years  and  came 
to  his  childhood  again.  He  played  with  her  in 
the  royal  grounds,  and  kissed  her,  dancing  round 
the  May-pole  tree.  He  romped  with  her  through 
the  fields  of  innocent  childhood.  How  beautiful 
she  was  even  then!  How  his  boyish  heart  had 
longed  to  win  her!  And  once  she  had  given  him 
a  golden  gift,  ere  yet  her  pure  soul  shrank  from 
him  with  dread. 

He  opened  his  breast,  and  took  from  over  his 
257 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

heart   a   tiny   golden    cross   and    kissed    it   many 
times. 

"Elgiva!     Elgiva!     Thou  beautiful  maid!" 

As  the  charm  of  the  fair  child  fell  upon  him 
his  brow  lightened  and  his  eyes  filled.  Those  were 
bright  and  happy  days. 

Suddenly  the  vision  of  the  present  rushed  back 
again,  and  swept  like  a  torrent  through  his  brain. 
The  scenes  of  childhood  mocked  him  as  they  passed 
from  his  gaze.  Their  specters  lingered  and 
cursed  him.  How  far  he  had  wandered!  How 
deathly  was  the  sea  on  which  he  now  was  tossed! 

The  fiends  of  guilt  and  despair  closed  round 
him  now.  The  hounds  bore  down  on  him  from 
every  side. 

"Any  hope?" 

"  None !     None !  "  the  fiends  replied. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  feebly  paced  the  cell, 
and  kept  the  hounds  at  bay  a  time. 

"  No  hope  !  No  hope  ! "  he  panted  in  de- 
spair. 

Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  fallen  Christ  once 
more.  He  shuddered  and  shrank  from  him. 

"  In  her  need  she  cried  to  him  and  he  answered 
her  prayer." 

258 


LIFTING     THE     FALLEN     CHRIST 

But  Oslac  drew  back,  remembering  the  fiery 
judgment  and  maddened  with  remorse. 

"  '  Have  mercy  on  me,  Oslac,  have  mercy  on 
me.'  I  gave  her  none !  I  can  expect  none !  " 

The  eyes  of  the  fallen  Christ  followed  him  as 
he  shrank  from  them,  and  pierced  his  life. 

The  hounds  barked  loudly.  The  fiends  leaped 
on  his  soul.  And  he  lifted  his  arm  as  if  to  stave 
the  blow  of  the  avenging  God. 

"Death!  Death!  Eternal  death  for  me!" 
he  shrieked,  and  sank  in  agony  of  wo. 

Then,  above  the  barking  of  the  hounds  and 
the  taunting  of  the  fiends  and  the  maddening 
shrieks  of  remorse,  rose  the  voice  of  his  queen, 
and  drew  him  forth  to  his  salvation. 

"  Go  thou  and  repent  and  turn  to  God  and 
do  works  meet  for  repentance.  For  godly  sorrow, 
such  as  thou  hast  now,  worketh  repentance  to  sal- 
vation." 

But  in  his  despair  he  hearkened  not. 

"  Go  thou ! "  the  voice  kept  calling. 

But  in  dread  he  turned  away. 

"  Go  thou !  Go  thou  ! "  the  queen  kept  cry- 
ing. 

He  looked  toward  Him  with  fear  and  trembling. 
259 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"Go  thou!  Go  thou!  Go  thou!"  the  voice 
commanded. 

Then  he  arose  and  came  to  the  fallen  Christ, 
and  stooped  to  lift  him. 

The  hounds  barked  more  loudly.  The  fiends 
leaped  more  wildly.  The  queen  called  more  com- 
mandingly.  He  wavered  and  trembled.  The 
angels  hushed  their  whispers  and  breathlessly 
waited. 

And  he  lifted  the  fallen  Christ,  and  came  and 
set  him  in  his  own  place  above  the  altar,  and  wept. 

The  eyes  of  the  Saviour  looked  deep  into  his 
soul. 

All  his  sin  cried  against  him. 

And  Oslac  stood  speechless  before  the  Christ. 
Remorse  and  shame  kept  him  dumb.  Fear  and 
trembling  took  possession  of  his  life,  and  over- 
whelmed him. 

"  In  her  need  she  cried  to  him,  and  he  answered 
her  prayer.  But  he  would  not  answer  mine !  " 

The  perspiration  broke  over  his  fearful  frame. 
Great  drops  of  agony  stood  on  his  throbbing  brow. 

"  O  God ! "  he  cried,  with  hopeless  voice. 

And  so  crying  he  flung  himself  prostrate  be- 
fore the  lifted  Christ. 

260 


LIFTING     THE     FALLEN     CHRIST 

The  struggle  was  too  much  for  his  ebbing 
strength.  He  fell  into  a  dark  swoon  again.  The 
lifted  Christ  faded  from  his  sight.  Long  he  lay 
thus  and  rambled. 

But  over  and  over  again,  like  an  angel's  voice 
breaking  with  yearning,  came  the  suffering  queen's 
command : 

"  Go  thou — and  repent — and  turn  to  God — 
and  do — works — meet — for — repentance." 

Slowly  consciousness  returned  again.  Slow- 
ly he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  Christ.  Slowly  he 
made  the  sign  of  the  holy  cross.  And  slowly 
prayed : 

"  Save  me,  Son  of  Mary.     Hear  my  prayer !  " 

But  the  specters  of  the  past  still  crowded 
round  him.  The  sin  of  his  life  still  cried  for  ex- 
piation. The  hounds  and  fiends  would  not  be 
quieted. 

"  Is  it  enough  to  pray  ?  Must  not  I  make 
some  expiation?  Must  not  I  do  some  deed  meet 
for  repentance?  " 

His  frenzied  eye  fell  on  a  beam  that  stretched 
across  the  cell. 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  me.     Shall  I  offer  it? 
Forsooth,  He  will  hear  me  then ! " 
261 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

As  he  pondered,  the  king  came  to  the  abbey 
gates  and  knocked. 

"  He  comes !  He  comes !  'Tis  only  right  he 
should  behold  my  expiation !  " 

Hastily  he  wrote  on  a  roll  of  parchment,  and 
laid  it  on  the  altar  and  mounted  it  himself. 

"  Go  thou — and  repent — and  turn  to  God — 
and  do  works  meet  for  repentance." 

He  turned  to  the  lifted  Christ  and  crossed 
himself. 

"  He  comes !  He  comes !  And  must  behold 
my  expiation ! " 

He  made  a  noose  of  the  queen's  girdle  and 
flung  it  across  the  beam. 

"  The  gates  have  opened  wide ! "  he  shrieked. 

He  placed  his  head  in  the  noose. 

"  He  comes !  He  comes !  And,  Son  of  Mary, 
I  come  to  thee!  I  come  to  thee!  Accept  my  ex- 
piation, Lord,  and  make  it,  oh  make  it,  meet  for 
repentance ! " 

And  so  crying,  he  leaped  into  the  arms  of  the 
lifted  Christ. 


262 


BOOK   THE   THIRD 


263 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

A    TALE     OF    A    SICK     NUN 

GUIDED  by  his  knowledge  of  the  foe,  the  king 
had  come  to  Glastonbury  as  the  one  place  in  the 
realm  where  he  might  hope  to  meet  the  owner  of 
the  cowl  marked  "  Oslac." 

Here,  too,  he  might  expect  to  find  the  queen. 

At  Kingston  no  one  knew  whither  Oslac  had 
carried  her,  while  at  Glastonbury  the  monks  pro- 
claimed themselves  wofully  ignorant  of  the  object 
of  the  king's  coming.  Oslac  was  not  there,  they 
answered,  or  the  queen. 

By  the  king's  command,  however,  the  abbey 
and  monastery  were  searched.  Every  cell  and 
corner  was  entered,  and  every  hiding-place  sur- 
veyed. 

Passing   through   the    abbot's    chamber,    Ead- 

mund  kicked  his  foot  against  an  iron.     It  showed 

signs   of  recent  use,   and  bore   on   it   a   piece   of 

scorched  flesh.     He  started.     Could  it  have  been 

18  265 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

red-hot  that  morning?  At  the  thought  he  shud- 
dered and  turned  away,  forbearing  to  tell  his 
fears  to  the  king,  or  point  to  the  pale  destroyer 
of  beauty. 

Entering  the  cell  where  the  queen  had  lain, 
the  king  fell  back  on  beholding  the  body  of  Oslac. 
It  was  a  ghastly  sight.  Round  his  neck  was  the 
girdle  of  the  queen,  by  which  he  hung,  limp  and 
lifeless,  from  the  beam.  His  mouth  was  open, 
and  his  eyes  were  fixed  pleadingly  on  the  lifted 
Christ. 

With  one  sweep  of  his  sword  Eadwine  cut 
him  down. 

The  body  was  yet  warm,  but  the  penitent  spirit 
had  gone  in  search  of  the  pardoning  Christ. 

A  devilish  hate  possessed  the  king.  Why  was 
Oslac  dead  before  he  came?  How  satisfied  his 
heart  would  have  been  if  only  his  hand  had  smitten 
him  with  wounds  and  death! 

Balked  of  his  wish,  and  angry,  Eadwine  turned 
from  the  corpse  of  Oslac.  On  the  altar  was  a 
tiny  roll  of  parchment.  He  opened  it. 

"  To  THE  KING  :  Forgive  me,  Edwy,  as  thou 
hopest  to  be  forgiven.     I  loved  her,  but  have  now 
266 


A     TALE     OF     A     SICK     NUN 

repented  with  sorrow.  Her  fidelity  broke  my  life 
and  turned  me  to  God.  Can  man,  by  dying,  expi- 
ate his  sin?  I  know  not,  but  shall  try.  Haply, 
the  Christ,  who  offered  his  life  an  expiation,  will 
plead  on  my  behalf.  Wo  is  me  that  I  have  be- 
trayed innocent  blood!  Forgive  me,  Edwy,  for 
the  sake  of  long  ago.  OSLAC." 

The  eye  of  the  king  softened,  and  still  more 
so  when  he  turned  from  the  altar  and  caught  sight 
of  the  golden  cross  firmly  clasped  in  Oslac's  hand. 
One  like  it  lay  next  his  own  heart  even  now.  They 
had  been  given  them  both  by  the  beautiful  El- 
giva  when  the  dead  man  and  the  king  were  boys 
together.  The  sight  of  Oslac's  brought  back  the 
happy  innocent  days  of  long  ago. 

"  Poor  Oslac !  "  cried  the  king,  bending  to 
touch  the  gold.  "  Poor  Oslac !  Thou  were  not 
ever  so,  but  noble  and  generous  as  any  boy !  Alas, 
that  the  waters  of  passion  have  overwhelmed 
thee,  and  that  thou  didst  embark  on  Dunstan's 
treacherous  seas!  What  shipwreck  thou  hast 
made!  Yet,  may  thy  spirit  reach  the  shining 
sea,  and  walk  with  gladness  on  the  golden 
strand!" 

267 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

So  the  king  lingered  with  the  past  and  mois- 
tened the  hand  of  the  penitent  Oslac. 

"  Take  him,  and  give  him  decent  burial,"  he 
cried  to  the  monks.  "  Light  some  candles  round 
his  shrine  and  pray  for  the  peace  of  his  soul !  " 

The  Benedictines  lifted  the  body  of  Oslac,  and 
hastily  carried  it  away. 

"  Whither  now,  Eadmund? "  asked  the  king 
sadly. 

The  darkness  of  winter's  gloom  had  fallen 
upon  him.  Feebly  the  lights  of  hope  were  glim- 
mering now. 

"  To  the  port  of  Brystyngestowe  with  all 
speed,"  answered  the  faithful  knight.  "  Pray 
God  we  may  yet  be  in  time  to  take  her." 

Feeling  sure  that  with  such  a  start  and  such 
uncertainty  the  chase  were  vain,  the  king,  never- 
theless, mounted.  With  that  sense  of  desperation 
men  feel  most  when  they  know  not  what  they  do, 
or  pursue  a  foe  flying  they  know  not  whither,  Ead- 
wine  put  spurs  to  his  steed  and  rode  furiously. 

Away  from  the  beautiful  Isle  of  Apples  he 
galloped,  over  the  Mendip  hills,  and  after  the  red 
deer,  till  at  sundown  he  came  to  the  busy  port  of 
Bristol. 

268 


A     TALE     OF     A     SICK     NUN 

Here  he  learned  that  early  that  afternoon  a 
party  of  monks  with  a  "  sick  nun  "  had  taken  ship 
to  Ireland.  That  the  "  sick  nun  "  was  his  poor 
queen,  tormented,  pained,  desperate,  the  king  had 
little  doubt.  And  he  sank  on  his  saddle  and  wept. 


269 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

MUSIC      AND      MORALS 

FOR  the  king  to  follow  to  Ireland  were  vain. 
But  Eadmund  pleaded  hard  that  he  might  be  per- 
mitted to  attempt  the  task.  And  Eadwine  de- 
spairingly consented. 

"  Let  me  pursue,"  cried  the  faithful  thane. 
"  I  shall  disguise  me,  and  sail  forthwith !  Mayhap 
the  Fates  will  lead  me  to  her  hiding  and  give  me 
power  to  rescue  her !  Let  me  go !  " 

"  Go,  then,"  answered  the  king,  "  and  may  the 
Fates  grant  thee  more  prosperity  than  God  has 
granted  me !  " 

And  so  the  king  and  his  faithful  thane  parted. 
What  sorrow  and  hardship  they  must  endure  ere 
next  they  meet !  What  trial  of  faith  to  David  and 
Jonathan !  But  meantime,  Godspeed,  Eadmund, 
Godspeed ! 

For  rest  and  refreshment  the  king  retired  to  a 
tavern  near  at  hand.     Bitterness  and  disappoint- 
ment lay  on  his  soul.     The  floods  opened  up  their 
270 


MUSIC     AND     MORALS 

gates  and  filled  his  mind  with  desperate  thoughts. 
And  by  a  cruel  irony  of  fate  he  looked  in  his  wo 
from  the  very  window  where  the  gloating  eyes 
of  Oslac  once  were  made  merry  at  the  sight  of 
Eadmund  and  his  royal  troop! 

Passing  to  and  fro  or  huddled  on  the  quay 
were  batches  of  British  slaves  for  export  to  for- 
eign lands.  At  this  time  England  could  hardly 
claim  to  be  a  trading  country  at  all.  Its  one  ex- 
port was  that  of  slaves,  and  Bristol  was  the  strong- 
hold of  the  trade.1  Fair  men  and  women,  young 
and  old,  were  huddled  together  in  chains,  trem- 
bling in  their  misery  beneath  the  sorrow-laden 
eyes  of  the  king.  Above  their  groans  anon  would 
rise  the  curse  of  the  breeder  or  the  lash  of  his 
whip.  The  fair  king  shuddered  and  turned  away 
from  the  sad  sight. 

In  front  of  the  tavern,  beneath  the  king's  win- 
dow, were  companies  of  chapmen  watching  over 
their  costly  wares  and  making  merry  with  wine. 


.  l  A  hundred  years  later  the  wealth  of  English  nobles  was 
said  to  spring,  sometimes,  from  breeding  slaves  for  the  market. 
It  was  not  till  the  reign  of  the  first  Norman  king  that  the 
preaching  of  Wulfstan  and  the  influence  of  Lanfranc  sup- 
pressed the  trade  in  its  last  stronghold,  the  port  of  Bristol. 
—  See  Green's  Short  History  of  the  English  People,  pp.  58,  59. 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

In  the  midst  of  one  group  sat  an  old  gleeman, 
gray-bearded,  withered,  and  worn.  The  sunset 
had  come  to  his  life  as  well  as  to  the  day.  Called 
upon  for  a  song,  he  took  his  harp  and  struck  up 
this  dirge  of  life: 

There  was  song  and  social  glee 
In  the  hall  of  heroes, 
In  the  banquet  chamber 
Loud  with  tales  of  gladness  : 
Warriors  boasting  of  their  bouts 
On  the  field  of  battle ; 
Singers  harping  happy  lays 
Of  the  fairest  women  ; 
When  uprose  the  gray,  old  king, 
Full  of  years  and  numbers, 
And  sang  this  song  of  life. 

He  in  battles  oft  had  fought, 
Vanquished  many  heroes, 
Traveled  many  lands, 
Ere  the  snow  had  fallen 
On  his  head  and  face, 
And  his  eyes  would  glisten, 
Or  his  worn  hand  wander 
To  his  jeweled  hilt, 
When  the  song  of  battle 
Woke  the  warrior  sleeping 
Underneath  the  snow, 
Though  the  sun  was  setting  fast 
And  the  death-winds  moaning 

272 


MUSIC     AND     MORALS 

Round  his  wintry  life, 
When  this  song  he  sung  : 

*4  A  phantom  of  mirk  and  mist  is  Life, 
A  specter  of  gloom  and  gladness, 
Father  of  shadowy  children, 
Spirits  of  day  and  of  dark  : 
Out  of  their  misty  homes  they  troop, 
Clad  in  garments  of  cloud  and  light, 
Dancing  with  merry,  dainty  feet, 
Tossing  their  locks  in  the  wind, 
Laden  with  song,  and  prattle, 
And  promises  thin  as  the  air  : 
'  Seek,  if  you  dare,'  they  cry  to  men, 
'  And  treasures  untold  will  we  give  you 
Of  gold-rings,  and  jewels,  and  gems.' 

"  Soon  as  a  child  leaves  the  womb-home 
The  queen  of  the  spirits  appears 
And  places  a  circlet  of  gold-stuff 
Around  the  neck  of  the  bairn ; 
And  on  it  a  jewel  unseen 
With  marvelous  power  in  its  core, 
Breeder  of  greedy  desire, 
Of  wild,  insatiable  want, 
Wrecker  of  peace  and  joy 
And  maker  of  longing  eyes, 
That  never  from  round  him  is  torn 
Till  Loki  doth  steer  his  life-bark 
Over  the  dark  sea  of  death. 

"  Over  the  land  comes  the  Earth-Spirit, 
Dressed  in  the  pale  green  of  Spring 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Decked  with  the  flowers  of  Summer 
Robed  with  Autumn's  gold 
Or  draped  with  Winter's  snow, 
Over  the  dells  peopled  with  fairies, 
Over  the  rivers  laden  with  lilies, 
Over  the  mountains'  purpled  slopes, 
And  tells  of  the  joys  of  the  field. 
Of  the  wealth  that  is  buried  in  land, 
Of  the  food  that  is  under  the  soil, 
And  the  fruit  that  is  growing  above  : 
4  Seek,  if  you  dare,'  she  cries  to  men, 
•  And  treasures  untold  will  I  give  you 
Of  gold-rings,  and  jewels,  and  gems.' 

"  Down  from  the  hill  rides  the  War-Spirit 
On  charger  snow-white,  and  snorting, 
And  eager  as  he  for  the  fight, 
He  with  the  helm  of  gold, 
Naked  sword  aflashing, 
Spear  and  shield  on  fire, 
And  tells  of  the  glories  of  battle 
Of  conquest  and  spoil  of  the  foe  : 
'  Seek,  if  you  dare,'  he  cries  to  men, 
'  And  treasures  untold  will  I  give  you 
Of  gold-rings,  and  jewels,  and  gems.' 

"  Out  of  the  Ocean  the  Sea-Spirit  swims, 
Draped  with  the  spray  of  the  breakers 
Gorgeous  with  light  of  the  sun, 
Over  the  foam-crested  waters 
Singing  their  endless  song ; 
With  child-spirits  sporting  around  her 

274 


MUSIC     AND     MORALS 

And  peeping  above  the  brine  ; 
And  tells  of  the  wealth  of  the  ocean, 
Of  wonders  in  far-away  lands, 
And  hoards  deep  down  in  the  sea  : 
'  Seek,  if  you  dare,'  she  cries  to  men, 
'  And  treasures  untold  will  I  give  you, 
Of  gold-rings,  and  jewels,  and  gems.' 

"  Yet  not  in  the  bosom  of  Earth, 
Not  on  the  field  of  War, 
Not  in  the  depth  of  the  Sea 
Are  the  treasures  of  men  to  be  found. 
But,  deep  in  the  bosom  of  home, 
Deep  in  the  love  of  a  maid, 
Deep  in  the  joy  of  a  wife, 
Of  children,  loving  and  fair, 
And  high  in  the  service  of  Heaven, 
Of  deeds  both  noble  and  brave, 
Of  God  and  His  Holy  Son. 
For  these  are  the  treasures  untold 
Of  gold-rings,  and  jewels,  and  gems." 

Scarce  had  the  song  of  the  old  minstrel  died 
away  ere  the  company  loudly  called  for  another, 
brighter    and    merrier.      Whereupon    a    rollicking 
youth,  in  the  strength  and  passion  of  life,  seized 
the  old  gleeman's  harp,  and  to  the  great  merriment 
of  the  throng  struck  up,  in  a  boisterous,  suggestive 
voice,  one  of  the  merry  songs  of  the  time: 
Once  in  Sunny  Strange-land, 
Where  the  slopes  wolf-haunted 

275 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

And  the  breezy  headlands 
Break  into  the  water, 
Dwelt  a  queen  and  maidens 
(Names  I  will  not  give  you) 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

Mickle  were  the  maidens, 
Each  with  gold  adornments  ; 
Round  their  throats  snow-whited 
Collars  many-jeweled ; 
And  on  all  bright  armlets, 
Rings  and  gems  bedazzling, 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

Through  the  flowery  meadows, 
Toward  the  place  of  bathing, 
Came  the  mickle  maidens  ; 
Where  our  Stallions  of  the  wave, 
Fast  a-riding  by  their  anchors, 
Lay  waiting  for  the  troop 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

"  Ho,  whither  have  ye  come, 
Ye  solitary  floaters  ?  " 
"Over  the  whale's  domain, 
Through  the  ocean-mists 
In  our  snell  sea-horses, 
Woven  round  with  speed, 
Maidens  of  the  sunlight." 

Then  upon  the  shingle, 
Where  the  slopes  wolf-haunted 

276 


MUSIC     AND     MORALS 

And  the  breezy  headlands 
Break  into  the  water, 
Ran  our  snell  sea-horses, 
Bearing  us  among  them 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

Gray  above  an  ash-grove 
Formed  a  bridal-bower  : 
There  was  cheer  of  heroes, 
Mirth  and  merry  laughter, 
With  the  merry  maidens 
Decked  with  many  jewels 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

So  until  the  darkening 
Lingered  we  within, 
Telling  tales  of  wedlock, 
Showing  deeds  of  prowess, 
Wooing  all  the  maidens 
Decked  with  many  jewels 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

But  now  weeps  the  welkin 
O'er  the  slopes  wolf-haunted, 
Where  the  breezy  headlands 
Break  into  the  water. 
There,  too,  weep  the  maidens 
(Names  I  will  not  give  you) 
Fairer  than  the  sunlight. 

The  company  cheered  the  singer  lustily  and 
made  merry  over  the  weeping  maidens.     The  rol- 
277 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

licking  youth  threw  the  harp  back  to  the  old  glee- 
man  and  laughed  boisterously.1 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  had  wandered 
from  the  earth,  and  darkness,  laden  with  sighing 
winds  and  lowering  clouds,  had  covered  the  scene. 
Through  the  gloom  came  the  mingled  groans  of 
the  slaves  and  laughter  of  the  chapmen. 

The  king  turned  away  from  it  all,  sick  and 
weary  of  life,  to  dream  of  the  wrongs  of  his  cap- 
tive queen  and  ponder  what  could  be  done. 

1  "  It  is  hard  not  to  look  kindly  at  the  gleeman,  for  he,  no 
doubt,  did  much  to  preserve  the  olden  poetry,  which,  even  now, 
was  ebbing  away  .  .  .  We  see  them,  indeed,  lingering  in 
men's  memories  till  the  time  of  Dunstan.  But  the  heathen 
character  of  the  bulk  of  them  must  have  hindered  their  pres- 
ervation by  transfer  to  writing,  and  custom  hindered  it  yet 
more,  for  men  could  not  believe  that  songs  and  annals  handed 
down  for  ages  by  memory  could  be  lost  for  want  of  memory. 
And,  no  doubt,  the  memory  of  the  gleeman  handed  on  this 
precious  store  of  early  verse  long  after  the  statelier  poems  of 
Caedmon  and  Cynewulf  had  been  set  down  in  writing." — 
Green's  Conquest  of  England,  p.  338. 


278 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

A    SOUL'S    BOG-LAND 

RETURNING  to  Kingston,  Eadwine  sought  to 
negotiate  with  the  Church  for  the  queen's  release. 
Odo,  well  satisfied  with  the  results  of  the  war  and 
conscious  of  his  advantage,  declined  to  listen  to 
the  king's  demand. 

"  The  will  of  Holy  Church  had  been  done,  and 
in  her  hands  Elgiva  would  remain  until  the  king 
renounced  her  and  paid  the  penalties  of  his  sin." 

Dunstan  was  even  more  insolent  and  over- 
bearing. 

"  Had  not  Holy  Church  the  right  to  tear  the 
harlot  from  his  arms  and  visit  judgment  on  his 
sin?" 

Unable  to  answer  as  his  heart  desired,  Eadwine 
was  forced  to  live  in  ignorance  of  the  fate  of  El- 
giva, tormented  with  thoughts  of  uncertainty, 
visions  of  dread,  dreams  of  sorrow,  days  and 
nights  of  pain.  Over  his  soul,  as  over  a  bog-land, 
swept  the  winter  winds,  moaning,  mocking,  sigh- 
279 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

ing,  and  shrieking,  as  they  sported  with  his  deso- 
late life. 

For  to  what  purpose  battle  now?  Would  the 
kidnapped  queen  be  forthcoming,  even  if  victory 
rested  with  his  arms?  Would  the  ship  that  sailed 
for  Ireland  return,  bringing  back  the  "  sick  nun  " 
at  the  sound  of  war?  Would  the  Church  go  back 
on  her  deed? 

Only  too  well  he  knew  there  was  little  hope  of 
that.  Battle  would  only  enrage  the  monks  and 
bring  down  revenge  and  slaughter  on  the  helpless 
queen — if  still  alive!  The  present  of  her  head 
of  gold  on  a  reeking  charger  was  not  to  the 
king's  mind.  To  save  that,  and  eke  out  the 
slender  thread  of  hope,  he  was  willing  to  bear 
humiliation  and  shame.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  at  present  but  to  make  ready  for  further  con- 
flict and  await  further  events. 

How  lonely  were  the  halls  without  his  queen! 
How  haunted  the  grounds  and  riverside!  How 
empty  his  life !  The  queen,  where  was  she  ?  Did 
she  exist?  Had  she  been  slain,  as  the  sad  queen- 
mother  feared?  Had  she  forsworn  him,  as  the 
monks  declared?  Had  she  donned  the  veil,  as 
White  Heart  pityingly  suggested? 
280 


A     SOUL'S     BOG-LAND 

All  inquiries  were  in  vain.  No  relief  was 
given  to  his  soul's  uncertainty.  No  light  broke 
through  those  dark  days  with  a  gleam  of  hope. 
Day  after  day  he  groped  through  the  darkened 
palace,  searching  for  something  he  could  not  find. 
Night  after  night  he  dreamed  of  a  sick  nun,  and 
heard  her  cry  above  the  roar  of  the  waters,  but 
could  never  see  her  face  or  come  near  to  her  help. 

How  painful  is  love  when  its  darling  is  gone, 
her  on  whom  life's  affection  has  been  poured,  who 
has  wound  herself  around  a  passionate  heart! 
How  desolate  is  the  soul  when  severed  from  its 
kindred  spirit  and  left  to  walk  the  weary  days 
through  lonesome  bog-land  heaths!  How  troubled 
the  heart  when  a  ghost  starts  up  crying: 

"  I  am  dead  !     I  am  dead !     Avenge  me !  " 

And  gives  place  to  a  mist,  anon,  whence  the 
voice  of  the  queen  comes,  far  off  but  clear: 

"  I  am  coming !    I  am  coming !    Wait  for  me !  " 

The  king  waited,  nursing  his  strength  and 
fury. 

Throughout   those   weary    days   White   Heart 
carried  the  gospel  of  consolation  to  the  king.     She 
would  not  return  to  Croyland,  but  lingered  at  the 
palace  waiting  the  coming  of  the  queen. 
19  281 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  I  have  prayed,"  she  often  said,  "  I  have 
prayed  and  God  has  heard  me.  My  heart  is  sure 
of  victory.  Did  not  I  hurl  the  Christ  after  her, 
and  cry  to  God  for  vengeance  ?  She  is  coming ! 
She  is  coming!  In  my  dreams  I  hear  her.  In  my 
prayers  the  Holy  Mother  comforts  me.  In  my 
visions  the  Christ  returns  with  Elgiva  in  his  arms. 
Fear  not,  EdAvy;  fear  not.  She  is  coming!  She 
is  coming !  " 

The  heart  of  the  king  was  comforted  through 
her  faith,  and  opened  itself  at  times  to  the  music 
of  her  gospel.  In  the  darkest  day  he  heard  her 
sing  "  She  is  coming !  She  is  coming !  Fear  not, 
Edwy !  "  and  though  his  own  faith  was  small  and 
his  fear  great,  the  persistency  of  her  hope  and 
the  certainty  of  her  trust  broke  the  gloom  for 
him.  Then  for  a  moment  he  walked  in  her  light. 

But  only  for  a  moment. 

The  child  was  all  that  was  left  the  king  of 
Elgiva,  and,  first  for  her  sake,  he  nursed  and 
mothered  it.  But  as  it  grew  it  crept  into  his  heart 
with  new  life  and  new  hope,  and  then  he  mothered 
it  for  its  own  sake  too.  When  it  began  to  toddle 
he  would  take  it  from  White  Heart  and  lead  it  by 
the  hand  to  the  places  Elgiva's  love  had  conse- 
282 


A     SOUL'S     BOG-LAND 

crated  for  him.  Then  he  would  sport  with  it 
among  the  flowers,  and  weave  coronets  of  roses 
for  its  brow  as  he  had  done  for  mother  long  ago. 
Or  he  would  carry  it  to  the  river,  shoulder-high, 
through  the  field  of  gold  Elgiva  had  come  when 
the  sun  was  setting  on  May-eve  only  three  years 
ago.  Or,  when  the  iron  entered  into  his  soul  and 
anger  raged  within,  he  would  hand  it  a  tiny  sword 
and  teach  it  to  fight. 

Then  a  new  dread  would  fall  on  him,  and  he 
would  seize  the  child  in  his  arms  and  carry  it  in 
his  bosom  to  shield  it  from  harm. 

"  They  will  not  surely  seek  to  take  the  child 
away!  They  must  be  watched!  Elgiva's  darling 
must  be  saved !  " 

At  night  the  child  slept  in  the  king's  sitting 
chamber.  In  vain  White  Heart  tried  to  send  him 
to  sleep.  The  boy  had  drank  too  deeply  of  the 
cup  of  fear  while  he  lay  in  his  mother's  womb. 
The  dread  of  the  queen  had  been  born  in  her  son. 
Visions  swept  before  him  as  he  entered  slumber- 
land,  and  drew  him  from  its  drowsy  shore,  trem- 
bling and  wailing. 

Then  would  the  king  lift  the  cradle  to  his 
side  and  rock  it  with  his  own  hand.  And  it  always 
283 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

happened  that  the  child,  like  Elgiva,  would  cease 
from  fear,  and  fall  off  into  peaceful  slumber,  while 
the  king,  bending  low,  sang  this  cradle-song: 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
Hush  in  thy  cot, 
Angels  are  singing  sweet, 
Stroking  thine  eyelids, 
Anointing  with  slumber, 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
.Hush  in  thy  cot, 
Mother  is  bending  low, 
Kissing  thy  forehead, 
Smoothing  thy  gold  hair, 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
Hush  in  thy  cot, 
Father  is  guarding  thee,^ 
Standing  to  shield  thee, 
Strong  to  defend  thee, 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

While  the  child  slept  and  White  Heart  pro- 
ceeded with  an  embroidery  of  the  Virgin,  the  king 
sought  the  comfort  of  books. 

He  pondered  the  Consolations  of  Boethius  till 
he  must  have  known  them  like  Alfred  the  Great. 
Sometimes,  forgetting  the  pale  nun's  presence, 
284 


A     SOUL'S     BOG-LAND 

he  would  read  aloud,  as  if  his  heart  were  finding 
words  to  its  taste.     Thus — 

Felix  qui  potuit  boni 
Fontem  visere  lucidum. 

Or  more  mysteriously — 

Felix  qui  potuit  gravis 
Terrae  solvere  vincula. 

But  ere  the  night  was  far  spent  Boethius  was 
cast  aside  and  Eadwine  was  seen  to  be  pondering 
the  Psalms  of  David  and  finding  their  prayers  and 
imprecations  even  more  to  his  taste. 

Those  were  sad  days  at  court.  The  thanes 
found  no  place  for  mirth.  The  brow-scarred 
Alfric  and  dark-eyed  Ethelsige  wished  they  had 
died  with  Turketul.  The  king  would  rise  and  pass 
from  the  guest-chamber  ere  yet  the  merriment  had 
begun,  leaving  them  all  sick  of  life  and  sad.  Piti- 
ful eyes  would  look  on  him  walking  slowly  with 
bowed  head.  Warriors'  hands  would  wander  to 
their  scabbards  while  mouths  were  firmly  clenched. 
And  when  the  king  had  passed  from  the  hall  the 
old  court  minstrel  would  lift  his  harp  and  wail 
this  shrill  lament: 

Sorrow-laden  is  the  king 
In  the  bower  of  heroes, 

285 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

On  the  wasted  wine-hall, 
Now  bereft  of  joyous  noises  : 
Clang  of  harp  is  here  no  more, 
In  the  chambers  no  delight, 
As  in  days  of  old. 

All  too  empty  are  the  meadows, 
All  too  empty  are  the  dwellings, 
Empty  too  the  bridal-bed 
Now  bereft  of  beauteous  queen  : 
Song  of  love  is  here  no  more, 
Merry-hearted  laughter, 
As  in  days  of  old. 

All  alone,  and  lonely, 
With  the  iron  wounded, 
Of  no  comfort,  surely, 
Now  bereft  of  friendship  : 
Sigh  of  soul  is  here  among  us, 
Wailing  in  the  chambers, 
Unlike  the  days  of  old. 

All  unhappy  do  we  weep 
In  the  day  and  darkness 
As  the  surge  of  sorrow 
Swells  around  our  life  : 
Never  now  the  goodly  hawk 
Hovers  through  the  guest-hall 
As  in  days  of  old. 

Pray  with  me  that  God's  Son, 
Child  of  Holy  Virgin, 
Come  adown  the  sunbeams 
Now  bereft  of  healing, 

286 


A     SOUL'S     BOG-LAND 

Speak  the  word  of  soothing, 
Make  the  house-lord  gladsome, 
As  in  days  of  old. 

Pray  that  sorrow  leave  us, 
Leave  the  bower  of  heroes, 
Leave  the  wasted  wine-hall, 
Now  bereft  of  joyous  noises. 
Pray  that  harps  will  sound  again, 
All  the  chambers  filling, 
As  in  days  of  old. 

Sorrow-laden  is  the  king 
In  the  bower  of  heroes, 
On  the  wasted  wine-hall, 
Now  bereft  of  joyous  noises  : 
Clang  of  harp  is  here  no  more, 
In  the  chambers  no  delight, 
As  in  days  of  old. 


287 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

NUN'S    VEILING 

So  a  year  passed,  and  more — a  terrible  year 
for  the  king. 

In  the  early  summer,  while  the  corn  was  yet 
green  and  tender,  the  gnarled  tree  of  Odo's  life 
fell  and  was  cast  into  the  burning. 

In  the  early  winter,  while  the  first  snow  still 
lay  on  the  land,  the  weary  soul  of  the  sad  queen- 
mother  began  to  sing  the  song  of  eternal  joy. 

In  the  north,  Eadgar  sate  upon  the  throne 
of  the  Mercians  and  Northumbrians,  dressed  in 
robes  of  pampered  glory,  a  puppet-king,  flattered 
and  swayed  at  the  pleasure  of  Holy  Church. 

Dunstan,  now  Bishop  of  London  and  Bishop 
of  Worcester  in  one — what  matter  to  him  that 
dual  appointments  were  given  against  the  Church 
decrees — waxed  great  in  the  land  and  schemed 
for  the  primacy. 

Eadmund  had  never  returned  from  Ireland, 
had  never,  indeed,  been  heard  of  more.  Had  he 
288 


NUN'S     VEILING 

also  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  monks  and  en- 
tered the  unknown  land? 

With  the  dying  of  his  hopes  the  bitterness  of 
the  king's  soul  settled  down  into  preparation  for 
battle.  To  fight  and  die  fighting  now  became  his 
heart's  desire,  in  the  hope  of  hurling  vengeance 
on  the  monks  and  the  good  Saint  Dunstan.  His 
desperation  wrought  in  him  a  frenzy  bordering  on 
madness  and  made  him  prepare  for  battle  with 
the  subtle  cunning  of  the  maniac  determined  to 
outdo  the  craft  of  his  watchers. 

"  She  is  coming !  She  is  coming ! "  sang  the 
pale-faced  nun,  but  the  king  had  lost  hope  in  her 
gospel. 

Boethius  had  long  since  proved  vain,  and  all 
that  was  left  of  the  Hebrew  king  were  impreca- 
tions loud  and  fearful. 

Thus  till  the  dying  of  the  year  958. 

While  the  passing  bells  were  tolling  out  the 
old  year,  two  persons,  a  monk  and  a  nun,  came 
stealing  through  the  palace  gates. 

Within  the  king's  chamber  the  child  lay  sleep- 
ing in  his  cot  by  the  king's  side.  It  was  lighted 
only  by  two  horn  lanterns  that  lay  one  on  each 
side  of  the  table,  where  sat  the  king,  head  in  hand, 
289 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

surveying  the  passing  year.  He  was  alone,  White 
Heart  having  gone  to  pray.  His  meditations 
scarce  could  be  heard  for  the  bells.  Suddenly  they 
stopped  as  the  old  year  crept  slowly  away  and 
made  room  for  the  new  mystery. 

In  the  hush,  a  nun,  thickly  veiled  and  draped, 
stole  into  the  room  unseen. 

"  Dark  hath  been  the  year  for  me.  Darker 
still  for  Elgiva — unless  she  hath  entered  heaven's 
light. 

"  •  Felix  qui  potuit  boni 
Fontem  visere  lucidum.' 

Aye,  Boethius,  but  thou  hast  little  comfort  there 
for  me.  Mine  eyes  have  not  seen  the  fount  of 
light :  *  I  stick  fast  in  the  mire  of  the  deep 
where  there  is  no  sure  standing.  I  am  come  into 
the  depth  of  the  sea:  and  a  tempest  hath  over- 
whelmed me.  I  am  weary  with  my  crying,  my 
jaws  are  become  hoarse:  mine  eyes  have  failed 
while  I  waited  for  my  God.  They  that  hate  me 
without  a  cause  are  more  than  the  hairs  of  my 
head.' " 

The  veiled  nun  sobbed  aloud,  but  the  king 
heard  not. 

"  What  will  the  new  year  bring  for  us?  *  Us ! ' 
290 


NUN'S     VEILING 

So  White  Heart  still  would  have  me  say,  pale  be- 
lieving soul.  Where  can  Elgiva  be?  Will  she 
ever  come  back  again  ?  '  Draw  me  out  of  the  mire 
that  I  may  not  stick  fast:  deliver  me  from  them 
that  hate  me,  and  out  of  the  deep  waters.  Let 
not  the  tempest  of  water  drown  me,  nor  the  deep 
swallow  me  up:  and  let  not  the  pit  shut  her  mouth 
upon  me.' " 

"  Amen !  "   sobbed  the  nun. 

But  still  the  king  heard  and  saw  not. 

"  *  Thou  knowest  my  reproach  and  my  confu- 
sion and  my  shame.  Mine  adversaries  are  all  be- 
fore thee.  Pour  out  thine  indignation  upon  them : 
and  let  thy  wrathful  anger  take  hold  of  them. 
Let  their  habitation  be  made  desolate,  and  let  there 
be  none  to  dwell  in  their  chambers.  Let  them  be 
blotted  out  of  the  book  of  the  living;  and  with 
the  just  let  them  not  be  written.'" 

Lifting  up  his  eyes  as  he  hurled  his  impreca- 
tions heavenward,  he  noticed  the  nun  at  last,  and 
strode  toward  her. 

"Who  art  thou?  And  what  thine  errand  at 
this  hour?  " 

The  woman  fell  at  his  feet  and  wept  bit- 
terly. 

291 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Thou  hast  a  sore  heart,  sister,  whoever  thou 
art.  Yet  it  is  well  its  bitterness  can  flow  in  tears." 

The  fountain  of  the  king's  heart  had  never 
broken  yet.  So  hard  was  his  grief  the  smitten 
rock  refused  to  well  forth  waters. 

"  Come,  sister,  and  let  the  king  hear  thy 
plaint.  Mayhap  he  can  comfort  thee,  though 
comfortless  himself.  Who  art  thou,  and  what 
thine  errand?  " 

"  See  for  thyself,  O  king,"   she  weeped. 

The  voice  thrilled  him.  He  started.  Could 
it  be?  Eagerly,  with  fear  and  trembling,  he  stooped 
and  raised  the  nun's  veiling. 

"  Elgiva !  Elgiva !  My  queen !  My  queen ! 
At  last ! '  At  last ! "  shouted  the  king,  breaking 
with  joy,  snatching  her  up  in  his  arms. 

"  Yea,  thy  queen,  Edwy.  Thy  queen,  home 
at  last,"  sobbed  Elgiva,  burying  her  face  in  iiis 
breast. 

So  for  a  minute  she  lay,  clasped  in  his  strong 
arms,  their  two  souls  speechless  with  thanksgiving 
and  joy.  The  warm  fountains  of  love  played  on 
their  lives  and  bore  abounding  blessedness  to  their 
hearts.  Their  guardian  angels  kissed  each  other, 
and  turned  their  eyes  away. 
292 


NUN'S     VEILING 

To  few  it  is  given  to  feel  the  thrill  of  such 
a  moment,  for  few  are  called,  in  the  mercy  of 
Heaven,  to  pass  through  such  a  vale.  Turn  thy 
head  with  the  angels,  and  wait  patiently  till  speech 
returns.  Having  suffered  much  they  have  earned 
this  moment  of  joy. 

"  Come  to  the  light,  Elgiva,  that  I  may  see 
thy  face  again.  Hath  it  changed?  " 

"  Much !  So  much,  Edwy,  I  fain  would  keep 
it  from  thy  sight." 

"Thy  beauty  must  still  remain,  save  only 
where  sorrow  hath  softened  it  and  made  it  more 
beautiful.  Come.  My  God!  What  is  this? 
How?  Whence  these  scars?  Who  hath  wronged 
thee  so?" 

"  They  scarred  my  face  with  red-hot  irons  to 
make  the  roses  bloom ! " 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  the  king,  the  fountain  of  his 
heart  breaking  at  last. 

"  Sigwulf  the  Fierce,  and  the  primate's  men." 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  why  didst  thou  stand  by  and 
spare  thy  thunderbolts?  Was  it  nothing  to 
thee?  " 

Heaven  vouchsafed  no  answer  then. 

"  Hush !  It  is  well,"  Elgiva  answered.  "  He 
293 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

heard  my  prayer.  He  saved  me  from  shame.  He 
kept  my  garments  white !  " 

"  And  how  hast  thou  escaped  ?  " 

"  By  aid  of  Eadmund,  thy  faithful  knight 
and  mine.  Waiting  long,  and  failing  oft  to  make 
escape,  he  freed  me  from  their  power  at  last,  and 
now  hath  brought  me  safe  to  thine  arms." 

"  Oh,  my  queen !  My  queen !  "  faltered  the 
king,  as  the  hard  rock  welled  forth  waters  at  last 
and  fountains  of  tears  broke  from  depths  no  pen 
can  fathom. 

Chased  like  a  beast,  for  days  Elgiva  lay  in 
the  covert  of  his  love  as  a  hunted  child  in  its 
mother's  arms.  A  peace  passing  all  understand- 
ing stole  over  her  heart  and  mind,  like  soothing 
slumber  mingled  with  pleasing  dreams  and  laden 
with  melodies  softly  sung.  His  warm  breath  and 
moist  cheek  and  throbbing  heart  and  clasping 
arms  made  heaven  for  her  soul. 

The  child  that  had  been  quietly  sleeping  in  its 
cot  suddenly  woke  with  a  cry.  At  the  first  sound 
of  its  waking,  the  mother  that  lay  in  Elgiva's 
heart  bounded  to  her  offspring's  side. 

"  My  son !  My  son !  "  she  cried,  lifting  the 
boy,  and  covering  his  face  with  kisses  as  she 
294 


NUN'S     VEILING 

pressed  him  to  her  breast  and  rocked  him  in  her 
arms. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  asked  the  child,  when  she 
had  soothed  his  fears  and  won  his  speech. 

"  Thy  mother.     Kiss  me,  my  son." 

The  child  put  his  arms  round  her  neck  and 
kissed  her  many  times.  "  My  mother.  Oh,  I  am 
glad.  Father  hath  wearied  so  much  without  thee. 
Hast  thou  not,  father  ?  " 

"  Yea,  my  son,"  he  answered.  "  Wearied 
much ! " 

"  Let  me  see  thy  face,  mother.  Let  me  touch 
it  with  my  hand.  How  strange!  How  deep  the 
wrinkles  on  thy  cheeks !  See,  I  can  put  my  fin- 
gers in  them !  Where  are  thy  roses  ?  Father  told 
me  roses,  beautiful  and  red,  grew  on  thy  cheeks. 
Is  it  winter,  father?  Hath  the  frost  bit  them, 
like  mine?  Why  dost  thou  cry?  Mother,  look 
at  father's  tears !  " 

For  a  moment  naught  was  heard  save  the  sob- 
bing of  the  three  and  the  falling  of  their  tears. 

"  Yea,  my  son,  it  is  winter  now.      The  frost 

hath   nipped   the   bloom.      The   roses    have    gone. 

But  play   on,  my   child,   play   with   thy  mother's 

shame!     Mark  her  wrinkles  well,  that  when  thou 

295 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

art  big  enough  thou  mayest  avenge  them  should 
thy  father  fail." 

Speech  forsook  them  once  again. 

And  in  the  hush  the  child  fell  asleep  in  his 
mother's  arms,  his  rosy  face  against  her  roseless 
cheeks.  Gently  she  lifted  him  and  carried  him  to 
his  cot. 

And  as  she  happed  him  round  she  softly  sang: 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
Hush  in  thy  cot. 
Mother  is  bending  low 
Kissing  thy  forehead, 
Smoothing  thy  gold  hair, 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

The  king  crept  to  the  other  side  of  the  cot, 
and,  putting  his  arm  round  the  queen's  neck  and 
his  cheek  next  hers,  bent  over  the  child,  and  sang: 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
Hush  in  thy  cot, 
Father  is  guarding  thee, 
Standing  to  shield  thee, 
Strong  to  defend  thee, 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

While  he  sang,  White  Heart,  hand  in  hand 
with  Eadmund,  stole  into  the  room,  radiant  with 
smiles  at  the  coming  of  sister  and  friend.     And 
296 


NUN'S     VEILING 

when  the  king  had  ended,  she  stood  at  the  cot-head 
and  sang  with  a  voice  soft  and  sweet,  like  a  spirit 
making  melody  divine: 

Sleep,  little  baby, 
Hush  in  thy  cot, 
Angels  are  singing  sweet, 
Stroking  thine  eyelids, 
Anointing  with  slumber. 
Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep. 

Then  the  church  bells  clanged  on  the  frosty 
air  and  rang  in  the  bright  New  Year. 


20  297 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

THE    HOUNDS    AT    BAY 

THE  hounds  were  close  at  the  heels  of  the 
hunted  queen.  With  gnarling  teeth  they  came  to 
the  palace  and  cried  for  their  victim.  Their  fury 
at  her  escape  knew  no  bounds  and  drove  them 
headlong  to  the  queen's  covert.  With  boldness 
and  insolence  long  practised  they  came  to  the  king 
and  loudly  demanded  the  runaway. 

Repeated  successes  had  made  them  unsuspect- 
ing of  refusal. 

His  regal  spirit  had  been  crushed,  they 
thought,  and  would  readily  yield  to  their  demands. 
But  when  they  came  fire  was  flashing  from  his 
eyes  and  a  fierce  look  before  which  the  bravest  of 
them  quailed  and  drew  back. 

"  Back  with  you,  hounds  and  insolent !  "  he 
cried.  "  Back,  in  the  name  of  the  king !  " 

Staggered  and  speechless,  the  monks  halted 
and  panted  as  they  gnarled  at  their  victim.  Their 
298 


THE     HOUNDS     AT     BAY 

teeth  showed  white  and  their  eyes  gleamed  hate. 
For  a  moment  only  they  stood.  Then,  more  in- 
furiated by  this  unexpected  check,  Sigwulf  ad- 
vanced toward  the  king,  crying  scornfully  and 
defiantly : 

"  The  king?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Nay,  not  the  king, 
but  the  Church's  proud  offender.  We  have  no 
king  but  Christ,  and  Dunstan,  maker  of  kings  and 
ruler  of  the  Saxon  realm.  And  we  come  in  his 
name  to  claim  the  harlot-queen.  Give  her  back. 
Holy  Church  demands  her ! " 

The  king  advanced  to  meet  him,  full  of  wrath. 
Power  gathered  round  him  as  he  spoke.  Even 
Sigwulf  felt  it,  and  withdrew  a  step. 

"  Once  and  for  all  let  Holy  Church  learn  the 
king  will  never  give  her  back.  Never,  while  life 
is  left  him  or  God  Almighty  gives  him  strength 
to  fight.  Never,  while  his  eyes  behold  the  outrage 
and  wrong  committed  on  his  queen.  Never,  while 
his  heart's  blood  boils  at  the  cruelty  and  shame 
of  men  who  call  themselves  servants  of  a  holy  and 
merciful  God.  Never,  while  his  heart  proclaims 
him  right  and  his  queen  pure  and  holy  as  Mary 
the  Mother  of  God!" 

The  monks  fell  back  as  Eadwine  advanced  in 
299 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

his  wrath,  his  face  marked  with  righteousness  and 
strength. 

"  And  as  for  thou,  Sigwulf ,  kinsman  of  Odo 
the  shameless,  no  more  shalt  thou  make  the  roses 
bloom  or  hunt  an  English  queen.  The  days  of 
thy  cruelty  are  ended.  With  mine  own  hand  I 
send  thee  to  thy  doom ! " 

So  crying,  the  king  swung  his  jeweled  sword 
and  smote  the  barbarian  to  the  ground. 

The  long  pent-up  energy  of  the  years  had 
broken  loose  at  last.  As  he  drew  his  weapon, 
reeking  with  the  blood  of  the  Dane,  the 
strength  of  battle  fell  on  him.  Now  that  he 
knew  where  to  strike,  strike  he  would  with  all 
his  might. 

"  There !  "  he  shouted,  drawn  to  his  full  height 
again,  his  eyes  piercing,  his  sword  uplifted,  the 
monks  withdrawing  terror  -  stricken,  surprised, 
aghast  at  the  deed.  "  There  is  my  answer  to  a 
Church  that  persecutes  the  innocent  for  selfish 
ends  and  stains  her  robes  with  the  guilt  of  heinous 
crimes!  There  is  my  answer  to  men  who,  for  lust 
of  place  and  power,  fear  not  to  hurl  the  word  of 
shame  at  England's  fairest  queen !  Take  up  the 
corpse  and  carry  it  to  Dunstan  and  say :  '  Eadwine, 
300 


THE     HOUNDS     AT     BAY 

king  of  all  England,  defies  thee,  and  holds  Elgiva 
for  his  queen ! ' : 

Terrified  by  the  visage  of  the  king,  and  fear- 
ing lest  the  dripping  sword  would  reek  with  the 
blood  of  more,  the  cowering  monks  lifted  the  body 
of  Sigwulf  and  hurried  from  the  scene. 


301 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

THE    RING    OF    BATTLE 

SOON  the  sound  of  war  was  heard  throughout 
the  land.  Dunstan  was  not  the  man  to  be  foiled 
by  a  woman.  However  infamous  the  plot,  only 
let  the  fiat  leave  his  brain  and  he  would  see  it 
carried  out,  though  England  reel  with  the  weight 
of  his  craft  and  hear  the  flapping  of  death's 
black  wings.  The  banished  queen's  return  was 
for  him  pretext  enough  for  staining  the  fields 
with  blood. 

"  War ! "  he  cried,  and  the  cry  reechoed  from 
the  walls  of  Canterbury,  Glastonbury,  Worcester, 
York,  and  many  a  church  between.  From  tower 
to  tower  it  ran,  and  fell  on  the  startled  ears  of 
monks  seeking  for  rest  in  cloistered  shades.  From 
glade  to  glade,  and  pained  the  tender  hearts  of 
whitely  nuns  walking  to  heaven  through  virgin 
lands.  From  shire  to  shire,  and  drew  the  swords 
of  Danes  and  Anglo-Danes,  ever  ready  and  eager 
for  war.  Benedictine  and  Jarl,  Mercian  and  An- 
302 


THE     RING     OF     BATTLE 

glian,  heard  it  gladly  and  issued  forth  to  battle, 
blessed  by  the  hands  of  the  priests. 

The  king  left  his  palace  and  went  to  make  his 
answer  at  Oxford.  The  queen,  fearing  to  be  left 
alone  again,  prayed  her  lord  that  she  might  also 
come,  desiring  above  all  things  to  join  in  the 
battle,  and  die  by  the  side  of  the  king,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst.  She  rode  on  a  white  palfrey 
at  the  head  of  the  thanes,  and  roused  their  hearts 
by  the  sight  of  her  scars  and  martial  bearing. 

With  pride,  the  king,  tall  and  upright  once 
more,  looked  down  on  her  from  his  charger,  gaily 
caparisoned,  decked  with  gold.  She  drew  her 
veil  to  hide  her  scars  from  him,  but  when  he  rode 
away  to  lead  the  march,  she  lifted  it  with  tears, 
pointed  to  the  wounds,  and  cried: 

"  Look,  ye  royal  thanes,  look  on  your  master's 
shame,  mark  his  queen's  deep  scars,  and  swear  ye 
will  avenge  them !  " 

The  thanes  swore,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  With  blood  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  With  blood !  "  they  answered. 

"  Fearing  not  death  ?  " 

"  Laughing  at  death !  " 

Oxford  at  this  time  was  a  place  of  some  mili- 
303 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

tary  and  monastic  importance.  Its  fame  lay  in 
the  strength  of  its  castle  rather  than  in  the  great- 
ness of  its  learning.  The  University  had  not  yet 
been  established,  though  it  is  said  to  have  been  a 
place  of  study  from  the  time  of  Alfred  the  Great. 
Its  schools  were  mostly  claustral  and  were  influ- 
enced entirely  by  the  Church.  But  the  spirit  of 
its  after  glory  was  already  hovering  over  the 
town.1 

The  fields  were  green  with  tender  grass  and 
aflame  with  buttercups  of  gold  when  Elgiva  came 


1  Says  the  late  Prof.  E.  A.  Freeman  :  "  The  history  of  Ox- 
ford begins  in  the  tenth  century ;  in  the  eleventh  it  was  a 
place  of  the  first  importance  as  a  military  post,  and  as  the 
scene  of  great  national  gatherings.  But  it  is  not  till  the 
twelfth  that  we  get  the  first  hints  of  the  coming  University, 
the  first  glimpses  of  schools,  scholars,  and  lecturers  ;  and  it  is 
not  till  the  thirteenth  that  we  get  anything  like  colleges  in  the 
modern  sense.  In  that  age  too  comes,  not  indeed  University 
College,  but  the  benefactions  out  of  which  University  College 
grew."  We  may  take  it  that  a  place  which  held  out  for  long 
against  the  forces  of  William  the  Conqueror,  a  century  later, 
was,  even  now,  a  place  of  some  military  strength.  The  castle 
was  probably  founded  about  900  A.  D.  by  the  West  Mercians. 
.  .  .  The  foundation  of  the  University  by  Alfred  is  now  re- 
garded as  fabulous  and  due  to  the  continuous  stream  of  flattery 
poured  upon  his  name  by  the  monks.  They  knew  how  to 
praise  and  how  to  damn,  but  truth,  like  love,  "  suffereth  long," 
"  never  faileth,"  "  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,"  and  comes  to  see 
things  "  face  to  face  "  by  and  by. 

304 


THE     RING     OF    BATTLE 

on  her  white  palfrey  to  the  south  gate  of  Oxford, 
where  Magdalen  Bridge  now  spans  the  sluggish 
waters  of  the  Cherwell. 

Here  the  march  of  the  royal  troops  was 
blocked  by  the  rebels  in  battle  array.  At  the 
king's  command  they  halted  ere  they  rushed  to 
the  fight.  Lifting  the  veil  from  the  queen's  face 
he  led  her  along  the  ranks  in  painful  silence,  point- 
ing to  his  shame,  and  with  avenging  looks  rousing 
the  army  to  frenzy  for  battle  and  passion  for 
right. 

"  Forward !  "  he  cried,  when  his  work  was  done 
and  the  troops  were  panting  to  strike.  "  Forward 
to  battle,  to  do  or  to  die !  " 

"  Oh,  that  thou  wouldst  give  me  a  sword, 
Edwy,  that  I  might  battle  too,  and  die  with  thee," 
entreated  the  queen,  now  casting  her  veil  away 
and  facing  the  foe. 

He  gave  her  his  own  Saxon  seax,  inlaid  with 
gold,  in  a  scabbard  of  gems,  on  a  belt  embroidered 
with  jeweled  scenes  of  war. 

Drawing  it,  she  lifted  it  high,  looked  toward 
the  sun,  then  pointed  to  the  foe,  and  cried: 

"  Forward !  And  fear  not  death !  Heaven 
will  fight  for  us !  The  sun  will  sink  in  victory ! " 
305 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

A  loud  cry  of  passion  broke  from  every  man 
and  strengthened  every  warrior's  limbs.  Forward 
they  rushed  and  leaped,  wildly  singing  this  bat- 
tle-song : 

Lamp  of  the  Lord  God, 

Lord  everlasting, 

Lord  of  the  morning, 

Light  of  the  day, 

Sail  through  the  night-mists, 

Shine  on  the  war-beams  flashing  before  thee, 

And  lead  us  to  victory  we  pray. 

Beat  on  the  brows  of  the  Sons  of  the  Sunlight, 

Break  on  the  shields  of  the  faithful  and  brave, 

Break,  like  the  waves  on  the  shingle  of  morning, 

Bearing  the  sail  of  the  day  from  the  night, 

Smile  on  our  war-deeds, 

Set  in  a  glory  of  salmon  and  gold-light, 

And  lead  us  to  victory  we  pray. 

Fly  on  the  track  of  the  faint-hearted  fighters, 

Fling  forth  thine  arrows  that  fail  nevermore, 

Spread,  like  the  beams  of  thine  own  shooting  warriors, 

Carnage  and  death  in  the  camp  of  the  foe, 

Rout  all  their  specters, 

Set  on  pale  faces  with  death-grip  adorned, 

And  lead  us  to  victory  we  pray. 

Lamp  of  the  Lord  God, 
Lord  everlasting, 
Lord  of  the  morning, 
Light  of  the  day, 

306 


THE     RING     OF     BATTLE 

Glide  o'er  the  war-field, 

Till,  gorged  like  an  eagle,  thou  sink  to  thy  setting, 

And  lead  us  to  victory  we  pray. 

The  royal  troops  dashed  among  the  rebels, 
while  prayers  for  their  confusion  were  chanted  by 
the  monks.  Fighting  with  irresistible  might,  the 
king  led  his  men  to  the  south  gate,  and  amid  a 
storm  of  arrows  began,  with  the  gallant  Eadmund, 
to  thunder  at  its  iron  sides.  The  brow-scarred 
Alfric  and  dark-eyed  Ethelsige,  now  of  all  most 
eager  to  die,  were  sent  to  storm  the  bristling  walls, 
while  the  queen  was  left  to  guard  the  rear. 

For  long  the  gates  refused  to  yield  to  the 
king's  fierce  onslaughts,  and  many  times  were  the 
ladders  thrown  from  the  walls  on  Alfric  and  Ethel- 
sige. The  monks  cheered  the  rebels  and  hurled 
anathemas  on  the  king.  The  jarls  shouted  defi- 
ance from  the  walls  and  mocked  the  efforts  of  the 
royal  force.  Grim  Gunnar  and  dusky  Dragmel 
exulted  as  though  defeat  for  Eadwine  were  cer- 
tain. But  in  vain. 

Returning  to  the  attack  with  undaunted  cour- 
age, the  royal  troops  rammed  the  iron  gates  and 
were  sweeping  into  the  town  just  as  Alfric  leaped 
on  the  bristling  walls  and  made  a  way  for  his 
307 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

company  by  receiving  into  his  own  body  full  a  dozen 
spears. 

"  On ! "  he  cried,  as  his  followers  leaped  on 
the  foe.  "  On !  Fear  not  death !  Avenge  the 
queen !  " 

And  as  he  sank  he  turned  his  face  toward  El- 
giva,  waved  his  hand,  smiled  triumphantly,  then 
marched  away  to  God.  Soon  his  feet  leaped  on 
the  walls  of  the  golden  city. 

With  a  loud  cheer  the  royal  troops  now  rushed 
upon  the  rebels,  scaling  the  ladders  and  sweep- 
ing through  the  gates.  The  grim  Gunnar  was  the 
first  to  encounter  Eadwine  as  he  entered.  The 
young  king  leaped  forward  to  meet  him.  For  a 
moment  the  armies  waited  to  see  the  issue. 

The  combat  was  brief  though  fierce.  The  wild 
barbarian  bore  down  upon  the  lissom  king  with 
brutal  strength  as  on  an  easy  foe.  With  match- 
less skill  the  king  received,  parried  his  thrusts 
and  blocked  his  rushes,  then  ran  his  good  sword 
home  and  laid  proud  Gunnar  low. 

Scarce  had  the  single  combat  ended  ere  Ead- 
mund  leaped  to  meet  the  dusky  Dragmel.  But  ere 
the  dark-faced  warrior  fell  the  bloody  conflict  had 
begun  on  every  side. 

308 


THE     RING     OF     BATTLE 

It  was  a  desperate  struggle.  Fighting  hand 
to  hand,  the  royal  forces  slowly  drove  the  foe  be- 
fore them  step  by  step.  Throughout  the  day  they 
fought,  surely  and  bravely  cutting  their  way  to 
the  frowning  castle  where  lay  the  wily  Dunstan 
and  pampered  princeling.  With  great  valor  and 
desperation  the  rebels  resisted  and  had  to  be  driven 
from  every  point  of  vantage  on  the  way. 

Verily  avenging  blood  flowed  freely. 

Meanwhile  the  queen  herself  was  dipping  her 
gift  in  the  crimson  of  the  foe.  Thinking  to  sur- 
prise the  king,  Dunstan  sent  a  force  round  to  the 
south  gate  with  orders  to  enter  and  attack  the 
royal  troops  in  the  rear.  But  the  watchful  queen 
lay  in  readiness. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  two  of  the  foe  stole  up 
to  the  gate  to  see  if  the  way  were  clear,  while  their 
fellows  crouched  in  a  copse  near  by.  Behind  the 
gate  the  queen  and  her  troop  lay  waiting,  excited, 
observant.  As  they  crept  within  the  gates  the 
queen  started.  They  belonged  to  Sigwulf's  party 
of  tormentors,  had  mocked  her  in  the  abbot's 
chamber,  had  seen  the  roses  bloom! 

Gripping  her  seax,  she  sprang  upon  them  and 
plunged  the  gilded  weapon  in  the  heart  of  one. 
309 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

When  she  saw  the  blood  spurt  from  the  open 
wound  her  hand  had  made  she  gloated  and  shud- 
dered in  turn. 

"  The  blood  of  vengeance !  "  she  cried  exult- 
ingly,  but  could  not  voice  the  dread  feeling  that 
rose  next  moment  in  her  heart.  She  had  slain  a 
man! 

The  second  monk  turned  and  fled  as  the  queen 
leaped  upon  his  fellow,  but  ere  he  crossed  the 
bridge  he  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  with  an  arrow 
through  his  life. 

The  crouching  foe  then  hasted  back  to  Dun- 
stan,  foiled  and  fearful,  and  tried  no  more  that 
day. 

The  great  man  received  them  in  anger,  lashed 
them  with  scathing  glances,  raged  a  while,  then 
smiled  as  another  plan  rose  in  his  fertile  brain. 
Eadgar  saw  it  and  played  with  his  jeweled 
hilt.  The  pomp  of  victory  rose  from  the  strife 
of  battle.  He  had  never  seen  Dunstan  smile  so 
in  vain. 

Ere  sunset  the  king,  with  much  bloodshed,  had 
fought  his  way  to  near  the  castle.  In  front  of  it, 
where  Queen  Street  now  lies,  the  last  struggle  of 
the  day  took  place. 

310 


THE     RING     OF     BATTLE 

The  grim  Danes  resisted  stubbornly  and  stood 
for  long  against  the  fierce  onslaughts  of  the  royal 
troops. 

But  as  the  sun  went  down  they  wavered,  broke, 
and  fled,  running  for  life  past  the  old  Saxon 
Church  of  St.  Michael,  through  the  north  gate, 
called  Bocardo,1  hotly  pursued  by  the  conquering 
king. 

When  darkness  crept  along  the  sky  Eadwine 
returned  from  the  slaughter  proud  of  the  honors 
of  the  day.  The  castle  alone  remained  to  be 

1  "  The  rooms  above  the  gate  were  used  as  a  prison,  and 
the  poor  inmates  used  to  let  down  a  greasy  old  hat  from  the 
window  in  front  of  the  passers  by,  and  cry  '  Pity  the  Bocardo 
birds  ! '  .  .  .  Of  Bocardo  no  trace  remains,  but  St.  Michael's 
is  likely  to  last  as  long  as  any  edifice  in  Oxford.  ...  It  is 
worth  while  to  climb  the  tower,  and  remember  the  time  when 
arrows  were  sent  like  hail  from  the  narrow  windows  on  the 
foes  who  approached  Oxford  from  the  North,  while  prayers 
for  their  confusion  were  read  in  the  Church  below." — Andrew 
Lang's  Oxford,  pp.  33,  34. 

In  the  Bocardo  prison  Cranmer  is  said  to  have  witnessed 
the  martyrdom  of  Ridley  and  Latimer,  which  took  place  with- 
out the  north  wall.  Issuing  from  it  to  the  flames  he  made  his 
famous  declaration  :  "  As  for  the  Pope,  I  utterly  refuse  his 
false  doctrines ;  and  as  for  the  Sacrament,  I  believe  as  I  have 
taught  in  my  book  against  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  which 
my  book  teacheth  so  true  a  doctrine  of  the  Sacrament,  that  it 
shall  stand  at  the  last  day  before  the  Judgment  seat  of  God, 
when  the  Papistical  doctrine  contrary  thereto  shall  be  ashamed 
to  show  her  face !  " 

311 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

taken — an  easy  thing  it  seemed  to  him  now  glow- 
ing with  triumph. 

So  he  laid  him  down  to  rest  under  the  shade  of 
St.  Michael's  Church,  with  grateful  glances  toward 
the  cross,  confident  of  victory  on  the  coming  day. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

THE    BARGE    OF    DEATH 

TOWARD  dawn  the  king  and  queen  rose  from 
restless  slumbers  to  begin  anew  the  battle  of  the 
day.  There  was  hope  in  both  their  hearts  that 
now,  at  last,  wrong  would  be  righted.  Like  lovers 
within  sound  of  wedding-bells  they  hasted  to  meet 
the  morn,  impatient  for  the  crowning  of  fond  de- 
sires. A  new  life  would  be  theirs,  they  fancied, 
ere  eventide  had  come. 

"  The  dawn  of  victory  is  nigh,  Elgiva,  and  the 
day  of  Dunstan's  downfall  come.  One  short 
struggle  more,  then  the  castle  will  be  stormed  and 
our  enemies  scattered.  Pray  God  the  abbot  may 
fall  under  Eadwine's  sword.  So  wilt  thou  return 
avenged,  and,  smiling,  reign  in  peace,  my  queen." 

"  The  day  hath  not  yet  blushed,  Edwy,  and 
knoweth  little  yet,  but  may  thy  prayer  be  granted 
and  evening  smile  on  thee.  And  oh,  that  Mary's 
Son  would  water  my  cheeks  to-day  and  make  the 
roses  bloom  anew  for  thee.  But  if  so  be  that 
21  313 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

he  will  not,  then  let  the  day  begone,  and  thorns 
remain  to  mind  thee  of  wrong  avenged  and  victory 
won,  and  me — of  garments  He  kept  white." 

"  Farewell,  fair  guardian  of  the  gate,"  said 
Edwy,  smiling  on  the  queen.  "  Hie  thee  to  thy 
post,  and  see  thou  wield  thy  weapon  well  as  yes- 
terday. And  I  shall  speak  me  to  the  king  on  thy 
behalf,  that  he  may  honor  thee !  " 

"  Farewell,  my  king ! "  answered  Elgiva,  and 
came  to  take  his  parting  embrace. 

She  lay  in  his  arms  a  moment  and  lingered, 
as  if  some  kindly  spirit  were  bidding  her  remain, 
kissed  him  passionately  seven  times,  then  walked 
away  to  her  doom. 

An  hour  before,  Dunstan,  with  the  pick  of 
the  rebels,  stole  from  the  castle,  made  a  semi- 
circuit  northward,  and  came  to  the  Cherwell. 
Here  was  a  gay  barge  in  waiting,  with  silken 
hangings  and  monstrous  figure-head.  Another 
and  larger  company,  under  Eadgar,  completed 
the  circle  southward,  and  crept  toward  the  copse 
without  the  queen's  gate. 

Leaping  on  board,  the  abbot  himself  took  the 
helm,  and  steered  down  the  stream  with  muffled  oars. 
The  night  was  dark  with  dense  banks  of  angry 
314 


THE  BARGE  OF  DEATH 

clouds  that  held  the  moon  in  check  and  favored 
the  chancellor's  crafty  plan. 

When  the  queen  came  to  the  south  gate  the 
guard  informed  her  all  was  well,  had  been,  at  least, 
till  an  hour  ago.  Then  threatening  clouds  had 
gathered  in  the  sky  and  hid  the  struggling  moon. 
Since  faint  sounds  had  been  heard,  as  of  muffled 
oars,  and  the  plash  of  a  prow  as  it  breaks  through 
the  water.  And  only  a  minute  before  there  had 
risen  from  the  river  a  low  wail  as  of  some  one  in 
pain — sure  sign  of  evil  portending. 

The  queen  wondered.  What  could  it  be? 
Would  it  do  to  go  and  see?  There  could  be  no 
danger!  The  guard  was  all  alert!  If  only  the 
moon  would  pierce  the  clouds! 

Even  as  she  wondered  the  sound  came  again 
and  quivering  with  pain. 

"  'Tis  a  wounded  man  in  sore  need  of  aidance," 
cried  the  queen,  and  sprang  to  light  a  lantern  that 
she  might  succor  him. 

"  Nay ! "  cried  the  veterans  of  the  guard. 
"  Nay !  Thou  must  not  leave  thy  post !  There 
may  be  danger  in  the  dark !  " 

They  listened  all. 

A  painful  silence,  broken  by  no  light;  and 
315 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

again,  but  louder  than  before,  a  cry  of  pain.  It 
seemed  changed,  too,  and  sounded  now  like  a  child 
in  utter  agony. 

The  mother  in  the  queen  could  not  resist  the 
cry.  Lifting  a  lantern,  she  leaped  into  the  dark- 
ness and  hurried  toward  the  river.  The  veterans 
followed,  vainly  entreating  her  to  return. 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  shrill  cry  of 
"  Help !  Help ! "  a  groan  as  the  veterans  fell 
pierced  with  many  wounds,  and  a  loud  splashing 
noise  as  the  barge  was  pushed  from  the  bank. 

Hastening  toward  the  river,  the  startled 
guardians  of  the  gate  arrived  to  find  the  barge 
in  mid-stream  and  being  quickly  rowed  away. 
Through  the  darkness  they  could  dimly  see  the 
queen  being  gagged  and  bound,  and  the  abbot 
at  the  helm  directing  all. 

Some  leaping  into  the  water  vainly  strove  to 
reach  her.  As  they  neared  the  side  an  arrow  or 
a  spear  brought  them,  one  by  one,  into  funeral 
procession. 

Soon  their  comrades  on  the  bank  were  engaged 

in  closest  combat  with  Eadgar  and  his  men.     The 

clang  of  battle  woke  the  tardy  morn.      But  the 

strife  was  short  and   deathly.      Sweeping  toward 

316 


THE  BARGE  OF  DEATH 

the  river  in  overwhelming  numbers,  the  rebels 
hemmed  the  royal  guardians  in,  hewed  them  down 
resisting  stoutly,  and  hurled  them  headlong  into 
the  stream. 

No  mercy  was  offered,  none  indeed  was  asked. 
One  warrior  only,  wounded,  floated  down  the  river 
as  if  dead,  and  escaped  to  tell  the  tale. 

Dunstan's  triumph  was  complete. 

When  the  work  was  done  blushing  dawn  crept 
up  the  sky  and  cast  its  crimson  on  the  scene.  The 
moon  broke  from  the  darkness  with  the  day  and 
tipped  the  morning  gold  with  silver  light.  The 
barge,  like  a  burnished  throne,  burned  on  the 
water,  aflame  with  silk,  adorned  with  grinning 
prow.  At  the  helm  stood  the  crafty  abbot  smiling 
as  he  never  smiled  before.  And  down  the  stream 
many  a  pale  face  floated  right  in  the  wake  of  the 
barge  of  death. 


317 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

BUTTERCUPS      AND      BLOOD 

WHEN  day  dawned  the  assault  on  the  castle 
began.  Eadwine,  unconscious  of  disaster  at  the 
south  gate,  led  the  attack  and  gloried  in  the  pros- 
pects of  victory. 

The  rebels  kept  up  the  defense  with  spirit, 
but  did  not  seem  so  numerous  and  did  not  shout 
their  gibes  so  loudly  at  the  king.  The  timid  Ethel- 
wold  and  treacherous  Alfhere  were  seen  upon  the 
Avails,  but  Dunstan  and  Eadgar  were  nowhere  vis- 
ible. The  royal  troops  exulted  and  declared  there 
must  have  been  flight  during  the  night.  The 
rebels  replied  by  showing  that,  though  few  in 
number,  they  were  strong  enough  to  hold  the 
castle  as  long  as  Dunstan  had  directed. 

Though  he  attacked  with  heart  and  hand,  the 

sun  was  mounting  high  ere  Eadwine  stormed  the 

gates  and  swept  into  the  fort.     The  royal  troops 

cheered  and  fell  on  the  rebels  with  joy.     The  few 

318 


BUTTERCUPS     AND     BLOOD 

that  escaped  fled  along  the  road  that  led  to 
Gloucester. 

In  the  hour  of  triumph  the  wounded  warrior 
wended  his  painful  way  from  the  river,  and  told 
the  king  the  tidings  of  his  queen.  His  arms  fell 
by  his  side,  his  head  dropped,  his  life,  that  a  mo- 
ment since  had  been  breaking  with  light  and  joy, 
grew  dark  and  sad  once  more.  The  thanes  looked 
on  their  lord  with  hearts  full  of  sorrow.  The 
royal  troops  hushed  their  exultation  and  listened, 
feeling  fate  was  mocking  their  joy  with  tidings 
of  wo,  and  some  great  calamity  was  nigh  at 
hand. 

"  Wo  is  me ! "  cried  the  king  with  breaking 
heart.  "  To  think  that  in  the  time  of  triumph  I 
should  hear  her  funeral  knell ! " 

"  Pursue !  Pursue !  "  cried  Eadmund,  strong 
man  of  faith  and  hope.  "  Pursue,  and  we  may 
take  the  queen  again,  and  wreak  our  vengeance 
on  the  foe.  Pursue !  Pursue !  " 

Mounting  his  steed,  the  king  rode  away  in 
dire  pursuit  of  his  much-wronged  queen,  with  fear- 
ful mind  and  heart  breaking  with  wo. 

When  Dunstan's  barge  came  to  where  the  Cher- 
well  and  Isis  join  the  Thames  he  disembarked 
319 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

with  haste,  and  set  out  for  Gloucester  with  the 
captive  queen.  The  face  of  him  shone  in  the 
morning  light  and  met  the  noon  with  smiles  of 
mirth  and  triumph. 

But  late  in  the  afternoon  it  darkened  when,  on 
nearing  the  Cotswold  hills,  he  feared  the  aven- 
ging king's  pursuit.  Then  was  he  driven  to  a 
deed  that  stains  his  memory  with  the  guilt  of  a 
cruel  and  brutal  crime,  pitiless  and  inhuman  as 
subtle  brain  could  imagine. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  her?  "  he  asked  when 
the  hoofs  of  the  king's  horses  were  heard  in  the 
rear. 

According  to  the  stern  maxims  of  Saxon  juris- 
prudence, any  one  returning  from  banishment 
without  consent  might  be  put  to  death  without  the 
formality  of  trial.  But  the  fury  and  hatred  of 
the  monks  scarce  needed  any  such  excuse. 

"  Hamstring  her,"  cried  the  fleshy  Kynesige 
with  a  curse.  "  From  coronation  night  till  now 
she  hath  been  as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  Holy 
Church.  She  is  in  our  power  once  more,  and  fools 
shall  we  be  if  we  delay  her  death.  End  her  now, 
and  then  our  troubles  will  be  ended.  Hamstring 
her,  and  leave  her  to  die  on  the  highway  alone, 
320 


BUTTERCUPS     AND     BLOOD 

to  welcome  the  royal  sinner  and  find  his  fond  em- 
braces at  the  last !  " 

"  Hamstring  her ! "  roared  a  dozen  voices 
under  Benedictine  cowls. 

Eadgar  was  far  in  front,  damning  his  dream 
of  silk  and  purple,  and  wondering  if  Dunstan's 
smile  would  ever  bring  the  crown. 

"  Hamstring  her,"  they  roared,  "  and  leave 
her  to  die  on  the  way  with  the  curse  of  Holy 
Church  upon  her  soul.  Thus  shall  we  rid  us  of 
her  life  and  kill  the  stubborn  king." 

"  Even  so,"  cried  Dunstan,  well  pleased  with 
the  plan,  smiling  fiendishly  once  again.  "  And 
let  the  deed  be  done  forthwith !  " 

They  laid  her  on  a  bank  of  flowers  by  the 
wayside,  and  with  the  king's  own  gilded  seax  com- 
mitted the  barbarous  deed,  and  left  her  to  die  in 
excruciating  agony.1 

"  There !  "    shouted    the    fiendish    executioners. 

1  There  seems  little  doubt  of  the  actual  occurrence  of  this 
deed.  Dr.  Lingard,  who  has  undertaken  the  defense  of  Dun- 
stan, does  not  deny  the  main  facts  of  the  conduct  imputed  to 
him.  After  relating  the  tragedy  he  describes  hamstringing  as 
a  "  cruel  but  not  unusual  mode  of  punishment  in  that  age  " — a 
remark  pronounced  to  be  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  an  inquisi- 
tor of  the  worst  ages.  The  punishment  consisted  in  cutting 
the  sinews  of  the  legs  with  a  sword.  See  Milner  and  Kemble. 

321 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  There !  Lie  low,  and  wait  the  last  embraces  of 
thy  king!  The  curse  of  Holy  Church  is  now 
upon  thee !  " 

Among  the  sweet  spring  flowers  they  left  her, 
pure  and  fair  as  any  flower,  writhing  in  agony. 
The  daisies,  hearkening  to  her  cry,  hastened  to  dip 
their  pale-pink  faces  in  her  blood  and  deepen  the 
red  of  their  ruddy  hearts.  The  buttercups,  in 
sympathy,  renounced  their  love  of  gold  and  gave 
themselves  an  offering  to  the  queen.  A  blackbird 
whistled  in  a  wood  near  by,  and  right  above  her 
a  skylark  sang  its  song  of  joy  high  up  in  the 
heaven  of  God. 


322 


CHAPTER    XL 

THROUGH    THE    FIELD    OF    FLOWERS 

TOWARD  evening  the  king  came  upon  the  dying 
queen.  She  lay  in  a  swoon  of  pain  on  the  bank 
of  flowers  stained  with  her  innocent  blood.  He 
flung  himself  by  her  side,  utterly  unnerved,  weep- 
ing piteously: 

"  Elgiva !     Elgiva !     My  queen !     My  queen !  " 

His  heart  was  broken. 

Round  them  gathered  the  royal  troops  and 
looked  with  open  hearts  on  the  painful  sight.  The 
thanes  wept  with  their  lord  and  king  and  were 
not  ashamed.  The  common  warriors,  young  and 
old,  scarred  and  bloody,  wiped  not  the  tears  that 
flowed  down  their  stern  faces.  No  man  sought 
to  hide  his  eyes  that  eventide.  Even  the  wounded 
forgot  their  pains  in  pain  for  the  queen,  and  the 
whole  were  wounded  sore. 

Yet,  of  all,  none  was  smitten  like  the  faithful 
Eadmund.  In  that  sad  hour  his  hope  was  baffled, 
323 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

his  faith  forsook  him,  his  soul  was  left  in  a  land 
dark,  desolate,  dreadful,  and  void  of  God. 

Laving  her  face  with  water,  the  king  sought 
to  bring  the  queen  back  to  life  again.  A  pas- 
sion to  save  her  rent  him  with  agony.  Slowly  at 
set  of  sun  she  opened  her  eyes  once  more  with  a 
loud  wail  of  pain,  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck, 
and  cried: 

"  Oh,  Edwy !  Edwy !  Let  me  die !  Let  me 
die !  My  king !  My  king !  " 

And  so  crying  she  swooned  away  again  and 
entered  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

The  sun  departed  and  darkness  came  on.  A 
lantern  was  lit  and  held  by  Eadmund  standing  at 
Elgiva's  feet.  At  her  left  side  knelt  a  priest  hold- 
ing a  cross  before  her  dying  eyes.  At  her  right  the 
king,  stricken  with  pain. 

For  an  hour  she  moaned  and  walked  the  Valley 
with  troubled  spirit  and  trembling  speech.  Then 
sweet  peace  stole  over  her  face,  pain  fled,  and 
smiles  ran  over  her  opening  mouth. 

"  Flowers,  flowers,  flowers !  "   she  whispered. 

The  king  bent  low  to  catch  her  speech. 

"  Flowers,  flowers !  A  spacious  field  of 
flowers ! " 


THE     FIELD     OF     FLOWERS 

Her  hands  wandered  from  side  to  side  plucking 
and  arranging  the  treasures.  She  lifted  them  to 
her  face,  laid  them  against  her  cheek,  smelt  them, 
smiled,  and  placed  them  by  her  side. 

For  a  moment  she  lay  still,  as  if  dreaming, 
then  opened  her  eyes,  and  whispered: 

"  I  shall  get  me  to  the  wood  and  pluck  the 
wild  roses  yonder." 

In  spirit  she  went  and  plucked  the  pale-pink 
blossoms  for  a  time. 

Anon  she  cried  as  if  in  pain: 

"  Oh !     A  thorn  has  pricked  me  sore !  " 

She  lifted  her  hand  and  picked  the  thorn  from 
it.  She  cast  it  away  with  a  look  of  pain,  and  kissed 
the  wound  many  times. 

Then  she  wandered  back  to  where  her  bouquet 
lay  and  cast  herself  beside  it  with  a  smile. 

Anew  she  began  to  pluck  the  flowers  around 
her.  Suddenly  her  face  changed.  One  by  one, 
as  she  plucked  them,  she  cried: 

"  Blood !  Blood !  A  tiny  drop  in  the  heart 
of  each!" 

For  long  she  kept  at  it: 

"Blood!  Blood!  A  tiny  drop  in  the  heart 
of  each ! " 

325 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence  full  of  awe. 

She  lay  as  if  dead,  peaceful  and  still. 

Anon  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a  sigh. 

"  Lo,  I  have  taken  the  angel's  place  on  the 
shield  and  am  clothed  in  dazzling  raiment.  The 
king  is  by  my  side  weeping.  And  I  can  not  speak 
to  him  or  touch  him,  for  I  am  dead  and  in  the 
field  of  flowers.  Oh,  how  plainly  I  see  them  all !  " 

A  brief  silence,  and  then: 

"  Children,  children,  children !  Weeping 
round  me  bitterly.  Everywhere  weeping  for 
me.  Ah!  And  every  one  hath  the  face  of  mine 
own !  And  is  clad  in  his  spotless  robes !  Edwy, 
Edwy,  bring  the  child  to  me  once  more — my  child, 
my  child !  Oh,  he  doth  not  hear  me,  doth  not  hear 
me,  my  king,  my  king !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence  once  more,  and  then: 

"  Listen !  The  children  are  singing.  How 
dull  my  hearing!  I  can  not  catch  the  words,  save 
the  loud  refrain: 

" '  Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! ' 

And  they  are  weeping,  weeping,  weeping." 

Then  she  strained  her  ear  to  listen  to  music 
that  seemed  to  come  from  afar. 
326 


THE     FIELD     OF     FLOWERS 

"  Deep,  low,  sepulchral,  as  from  a  land  of 
spirits.  'Tis  the  voice  of  the  warriors.  The  same 
song!  The  same  refrain — and  throbbing  with 


passion ! 


'  Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! ' " 


The  scene  changed  once  more  as  her  spirit 
walked  deep  down  the  Valley.  Another  vision 
seemed  to  rise  before  her  eyes.  She  lifted  them 
toward  a  mountain  and  watched  long  a  figure  ap- 
proaching. And  as  it  drew  near,  she  cried  with 
much  surprise: 

"  White  Heart !  And  her  feet  are  wet  with 
blood!  Lo,  Turketul  is  by  her  side  and  whisper- 
ing :  *  Fear  not,  my  child,  God  will  avenge ! ' 

Her  spirit  sank  deeper  in  the  Valley  now  and 
came  to  the  water's  edge.  The  priest  held  the 
cross  close  to  her  dying  eyes.  The  king  took  her 
hand  and  held  it  softly.  The  silence  was  broken 
only  by  the  breathing  of  the  warriors  and  the 
running  of  a  brook  near  by. 

So  till  the  end.     Then  brokenly  and  slowly: 

"  The  field  of  flowers  again.  How  sweet  they 
smell.  How  beautiful.  He  maketh  me — lie  down 
— in  green  pastures — he  leadeth  me — beside — still 
327 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

waters  —  I  walk  —  through  the  valley  —  shadow  — 
death  —  and  fear  —  no  evil  —  thou  art  —  with  me  — 
art  —  with  —  me  —  Surely  —  goodness  —  mercy 

—  shall  —  follow  —  me  —  follow  —  me  —  me  — 
me  —  And  —  I  —  shall  —  dwell  —  house  —  Lord 

—  forever." 

Her  speech  was  low  and  faint  now,  and  it 
was  long  ere  she  murmured  "  forever."  Thrice 
she  said  it  at  last,  and  lingered  over  it  with 


Then  as  the  heavenly  light  fell  on  her  face 
she  stretched  forth  her  hand  as  if  to  pluck  one 
flower  more,  smiled,  passed  through  the  Valley, 
and  entered  the  house  of  the  Lord. 

Her  passing  was  so  peaceful  at  the  last 
that  they  scarce  knew  when  she  went  away. 
After  a  long  silence  the  king  whispered  in 
her  ear: 

"  Elgiva  !     Elgiva  !  " 

But  when  she  answered  not  he  loudly  wailed: 

"Dead!  Dead!  Dead!"  Then  flung  him- 
self prostrate  at  her  side. 

In  that  dread  hour  his  heart  was  bare  for  the 
stroke  of  death  and  bled.  The  blow  fell  on  him 
heavily  and  stunned  his  life.  He  lay  under  the 
328 


THE     FIELD     OF     FLOWERS 

lash  and  endured  it  for  long.  Then,  rebelling, 
he  rose,  frantic  and  fierce,  and  cried: 

"There  is  no  God!  There  is  no  God!  Else 
he  had  saved  my  hapless  queen !  " 

And  so  crying,  Eadmund  led  him  away 
weeping. 


22  329 


CHAPTER    XLI 

AN    ANGRY     HEAVEN 

AT  dawn  the  royal  troops  rose  from  their  camp 
of  sorrow,  and  waited  the  bidding  of  the  mourn- 
ing king.  The  queen  lay  on  a  fresh  piece  of  the 
bank  of  flowers  amid  a  wealth  of  buttercups  and 
daisies,  clad  in  whitest  raiment. 

Ere  they  went  in  pursuit  the  old  court  minstrel 
took  up  the  burden  of  their  hearts  in  a  loud 
lament.  And  the  royal  warriors,  kneeling  around 
their  queen,  joined  with  passion  in  the  oft-recurring 

refrain : 

Lord,  our  backs  are  bent  with  wo, 
Beaten,  broken,  all  our  hopes, 
Blasted  with  the  biting  winds, 
Frozen  with  the  cold  hoar-frost, 
So  we  lift  our  prayers  to  Thee. 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 

Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! 

Now  our  souls  are  darkened  drear. 
Darkened  with  the  clouds  of  Death, 
Darkened  with  the  ravens  wan, 

330 


AN     ANGRY     HEAVEN 

Dinned  with  howls  of  wild  were-wolf, 
So  we  lift  our  prayers  to  Thee. 
Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! 

Rooted  from  our  Mother  Earth 
Is  the  lily  of  the  land, 
Plucked  and  bruised  with  brutal  arm 
The  whitest  rose  of  all  the  realm, 
So  we  lift  our  prayer  to  Thee. 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send ! 

Torn  the  purple  of  the  throne, 
Torn  the  jewel  from  the  crown, 
Torn  the  heart  of  England's  king, 
Torn  the  queen  of  Beauty  now, 
So  we  lift  our  prayer  to  Thee. 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send ! 

Smitten  fiercely  hath  the  foe, 
Plunged  the  war-beam  to  the  hilt, 
Rent  the  vitals  from  our  life, 
Swept  our  souls  with  swords  of  Grief, 
So  we  lift  our  prayer  to  Thee. 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! 

Now  with  wounds  enwreathed  all, 
Girt  about  with  woful  trappings, 
Laden  deep  with  sorrows  sore, 
Fare  we  fainting  forth  to  fight, 
So  we  lift  our  prayer  to  Thee. 

331 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 
Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! 

Make  our  war-beams  mighty,  Lord, 
Doughty  of  the  edges,  keen, 
Slaughter-greedy  weapons  all, 
Fiercely  thirsting  for  the  fray, 
So  we  lift  our  prayer  to  Thee. 

Son  of  Mary,  in  Thy  Heaven, 

Hear,  and  vengeance  send  ! 

When  the  prayer  had  ended  the  royal  war- 
riors rose  and  went  in  pursuit  of  the  fray.  Four 
of  the  thanes,  making  a  bier  for  the  queen  with 
their  linden  shields,  lifted  her  on  their  shoulders 
and  carried  her  thus  at  the  head  of  the  army. 

It  was  not  till  late  in  the  afternoon  they  came 
upon  the  rebels  near  Gloucester,1  on  a  fortified 
position  on  the  Cotswold  hills. 

The  thanes  laid  the  queen  on  the  ground,  and 
as  they  went  to  the  fight  the  warriors  touched  her 
with  their  spears,  singing  this  battle-song: 

1  Gloucester,  originally  founded  by  the  Britons,  was  a  city 
of  some  military  importance.  At  the  commencement  of  the 
eighth  century  it  was,  according  to  the  venerable  Bede,  one  of 
the  noblest  cities  in  the  land.  In  the  seventh  century  Wulphur, 
son  of  King  Penda,  founded  the  monastery  of  St.  Peter  there. 
The  city  repeatedly  suffered  from  fire  and  the  ravages  of  the 
Danes.  It  was  almost  wholly  destroyed  shortly  after  the  Nor- 
man Conquest.  Two  of  the  sons  of  William  the  Conqueror 
sleep  in  its  cathedral. 

332 


AN     ANGRY     HEAVEN 

Forth  and  forward  faring, 
Fighters  fierce  in  battle, 
Through  the  surge  of  war-wights 
By  the  strength  of  fingers 
Victory's  song  abringing. 
Wield  with  might  the  war-beam 
For  the  war-strife  shapen, 
Bend  the  biting  arrows 
Yont  the  yellow-shields 
Wailing  slaughter-runes. 
Stride  along  the  war-host, 
Shout  aloud  the  trumpets, 
Soar  aloft  the  banners, 
Girt  with  greedy  war-words, 
Decked  with  gems  of  Death, 
Till  in  woe  the  war-wights 
Joyless  fall. 

The  battle  began  with  eager  haste,  all  recog- 
nizing it  was  the  death-struggle  of  Eadwine  or 
Dunstan.  The  royal  troops  fought  with  the  vision 
of  the  queen  before  them  and  with  their  swords 
thirsting  for  vengeance. 

The  king,  reckless  of  life  now  and  courting  a 
death-wound,  rushed  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  and 
seemed  to  wield  a  charmed  weapon.  His  tall  frame 
towered  above  the  combatants,  and  marked  him 
out  for  many  an  arrow  that  turned  aside  wailing 
from  his  magic  shield. 

333 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Baptized  with  power,  he  carried  the  thanes 
with  him,  and  struck  terror  into  the  foe.  Hand 
to  hand  he  fought  his  way  up  the  steep  hillside, 
and  grimly  smiled  in  the  midst  of  death.  Hero 
after  hero  he  met  in  single  combat,  and  trampled 
in  their  blood  as  he  leaped  to  meet  another.  One 
by  one  they  fell  before  him,  and  Death  would  not 
take  him  eager  to  go. 

The  royal  troops  beheld  his  might,  and  cried, 
"  The  Lord  is  round  about  him ! "  Certain  of 
victory  now,  they  fought  with  fearless  strength. 

So  till  sunset — a  wild  and  angry  sky,  with 
clouds  rushing  to  meet  the  night. 

Then  the  king  caught  sight  of  Dunstan  cheer- 
ing the  reeling  rebels  on,  and  near  him  Eadgar 
with  golden  helmet,  and  the  treacherous  Alfhere. 
With  might  and  main  he  cut  his  way  to  where 
the  abbot  fought. 

When  but  a  few  paces  off,  Rold,  a  wild  North- 
umbrian jarl,  leaped  out  to  meet  him  in  single 
strife.  The  forces  fell  back  on  either  side  to  watch 
the  fray.  But  not  for  long.  With  a  mighty  blow 
the  king  smote  him  to  the  earth,  and  led  on  the 
cheering  thanes  to  where  the  abbot  stood. 

The  enchantment  of  invincible  power  lay  upon 
334 


AN     ANGRY     HEAVEN 

him  till  within  a  few  yards  of  the  pale-faced  monk. 
Then,  as  Alfhere  leaped  to  meet  him  hand  to 
hand,  he  fell,  smitten  with  many  wounds  and 
pierced  with  many  spears. 

But  as  he  fell  he  hurled  his  sword  from  him, 
full  at  the  life  of  the  abbot,  with  all  his  ebbing 
strength,  and  saw  it  plunge  deep  in  the  neck  of 
Dunstan. 

A  flash  of  lightning  leaped  from  out  the  sky 
as  darkness  closed  on  Eadwine  and  lit  his  soul  to 
heaven.  A  peal  of  thunder  told  his  welcome  there. 
The  dying  sun  sank  blood-red  amid  a  sea  of  tem- 
pestuous clouds. 

The  royal  troops  were  terror-stricken.  The 
Lord  had  forsaken  them!  Their  king  was  slain. 
Their  swords  were  reft  of  power.  Their  hearts 
of  hope. 

But  the  rebels  rallied  with  glee  and  fought 
with  new  enthusiasm.  They  swept  down  the  hill 
against  the  hopeless  warriors.  The  strength  of 
victory  came  upon  them.  And  the  royal  troops, 
bereft  at  once  of  king  and  hope,  could  not  long 
withstand  them,  were  beaten  back,  thrown  into  con- 
fusion, and  put  to  hopeless  flight. 

That  night  a  wild  storm  swept  over  the  land. 
335 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

Angry  angels  leaped  from  heaven  and  beat  the 
air  with  furious  wings.  Lightnings  and  thunder- 
ings,  such  as  went  beyond  the  memory  of  man, 
rent  the  sky  and  smote  the  hearts  of  the  victors. 

The  beaten  warriors  as  they  fled  heard  above 
the  storm  of  the  angels  the  loud  thunderings  of 
doubt,  the  cries  of  faith-forsaken  hearts,  and 
arraigned  the  righteousness  of  God. 

And  Eadmund,  strong  man  of  faith  and  hope 
once,  cried  with  a  broken  voice,  above  the  shout 
of  heaven: 

"There  is  no  God!  There  is  no  God!  Else 
he  had  saved  our  hapless  king ! " 


EPILOGUE 

AFTEE    THIRTY    YEARS 

THIRTY  years  later  the  faithful  abbot  of  Croy- 
land  sate  in  an  arbor  there,  conversing  with  a 
young  and  noble  monk.  It  was  the  eventide  of 
a  long  June  day.  The  news  had  recently  arrived 
of  the  death  of  Dunstan,  and  threw  the  abbey,  as 
it  did  the  country,  into  a  state  of  commotion 
mingled  with  feelings  of  pity  and  relief. 

"  The  end,  after  all,  Edwy,  hath  proved  the 
faith  to  be  true  that  prophesies  final  victory  for 
truth  and  righteousness.  '  Vengeance  is  mine :  I 
will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.'  And  he  doth  not  for- 
get his  promise  or  fail  to  perform,  though  in  our 
bitterness  and  ruin  we  may  wonder  at  his  seeming 
want  of  action." 

"  Even  so  the  saintly  abbess  declared  to  me 

yesternight,  Eadmund.     *  The  Holy  Virgin,'  said 

she,  *  lifts  our  prayer  and  holds  it  near  to  God 

Almighty's  heart  till  the  times  are  ripe  for  his 

337 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

working.  Then  comes  the  retribution  and  vindi- 
cation of  his  holy  name.  It  may  be  three,  or 
thirty,  or  three  hundred,  or  three  thousand  years; 
but,  sure  as  the  sun  rises  after  the  longest  night, 
God's  answer  comes.'  ' 

"  The  saintly  White  Heart's  faith  hath  never 
failed  her,"  answered  the  faithful  knight,  who 
loved  her  to  the  end.  "  She  drank  too  deeply  of 
the  spirit  of  Turketul  ever  to  waver.  '  Thy  cause 
is  just,'  he  said  to  thy  father  amid  his  assembled 
thanes,  '  and  Heaven  will  not  deny  thee  victory 
in  the  end.  The  air  is  laden  with  its  legions,  and 
the  wicked  are  wounded  they  know  not  whence  or 
how.  Be  strong,  O  king,  and  generations  yet  un- 
born will  honor  the  name  of  Eadwine  the  Fair.' 
So  said  he  to  thy  father,  Edwy.  And  lo,  his 
son  is  seeing  the  fulfilment  of  the  old  warrior's 
word!" 

"  Recount  it  all  to  me  again,  Eadmund,  that 
my  faith  may  not  waver,  and  the  son  of  Ead- 
wine the  Fair  rest  well  pleased  with  God's  aven- 
ging." 

"  Becoming  monarch  of  all  England  on  thy 
father's  death,  Eadgar  robed  himself  with  great 
splendor  and  sought  to  hide  the  stain  that  lay  on 
338 


AFTER     THIRTY     YEARS 

his  heart.  But  his  feet  were  wet  with  blood  and 
his  hand  often  trembled.  The  dream  of  silk  and 
purple  was  never  realized.  The  crown  he  won 
brought  him  sorrow,  and  fell  from  his  head  in 
the  pride  of  his  life  and  glory.  The  sword  of 
justice  swung  around  his  throne  and  found  its 
home  sooner  than  men  expected. 

"  Vain  and  pompous  he  kept  up  a  show  for  a 
time,  appeared  to  flourish  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and 
sought  to  be  accounted  great  and  glorious.  He 
called  himself  by  titles  most  boastful — '  King  of 
the  Angles  and  all  the  nations  round  about ' ; 

*  Ruler  and  Lord  of  the  whole  isle  of  Albion ' ; 

*  Basileus    and    Imperator    of    all    Britain ' ;    and 
many   other   such.      He   appeared   in   public  with 
great    ostentation,    resplendent    in    royal    purple 
robes,    his    long   flaxen    tresses    ever    plaited    with 
shining  gold,  his  belt  embroidered  with  precious 
gems,  and  his  sword,  with  richly  jeweled  hilt,  dan- 
gling in  a  burnished  scabbard  of  gold.     A  legend 
will   tell   thee   that   after   his    coronation    he    was 
rowed  up  the  Dee  from  Chester  to  the  abbey  of 
Saint  John  the  Baptist  by  eight  vassal  kings,  him- 
self   holding    the    helm.      But    legends,    however 
pretty  or  romantic,  must  not  always  be  believed. 

339 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Under  all  this  outward  splendor  dwelt  a  foul 
and  feeble  heart.  The  hand  that  ruled  was  Dun- 
stan's.  The  heart  that  sinned  was  Eadgar's.  The 
Benedictines  do  not  hide  the  fact  that  their  darling 
benefactor  was  no  saint  in  morals.  A  libertine 
himself,  he  made  his  court  dissolute,  and  did  not 
hesitate  to  purchase  the  gratification  of  his  pas- 
sion by  the  foulest  of  all  crimes. 

"  Twice  married,  first  to  Ethelflaed  the  White, 
who  bore  him  Eadmund  the  Martyr,  and  then  to 
Elfrida,  who  presented  him  with  Ethelred  the  Un- 
ready, he  was  not  blessed  with  joy. 

"  His  second  marriage  covers  both  names  with 
shame.  Elfrida,  vain  and  ambitious  as  himself, 
and  beautiful  beyond  tell,  sought,  though 
daughter  of  one  of  his  nobles  and  wife  of  an- 
other, to  captivate  the  king.  Succeeding  in  this, 
Eadgar,  like  David  of  old,  murdered  the  noble 
husband,  but,  unlike  the  Hebrew  king,  did  not 
repent  of  his  sin  and  cry  unto  the  Lord.  Heaven 
marked  the  deed,  filled  up  the  cup  of  his  judg- 
ment, and  took  him  from  the  scenes  of  his  sins 
and  crimes,  his  pomp  and  glory,  his  silk  and  pur- 
ple, his  gold  and  gems,  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-two. 

340 


AFTER     THIRTY     YEARS 

"  Then  began  the   troubles   of   Dunstan. 

"  Having  by  his  craft,  the  favor  of  Eadgar, 
and  the  smile  of  Pope  John  XII,  become  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  and  Primate  of  England,  he 
had  been  till  now  the  master  of  the  realm  in 
Church  and  state.  Eadgar,  like  Eadred  be- 
fore him,  had  been  his  tool,  a  willing  tool,  well 
content  to  be  wielded  by  the  cunning  hand  of 
Dunstan.  Great  as  ecclesiastic  and  statesman, 
greater  than  any  who  had  hitherto  ruled  the 
realm,  even  in  the  fulness  of  his  power  he 
was  not  strong  enough  to  force  his  heart's 
desire. 

"  The  clergy  persisted  in  maintaining  their 
natural  rights  and  forced  him  to  withdraw  from 
active  propagation  of  Benedictine  rules.  Only  by 
counsels  of  discretion  was  revolution  prevented. 
The  ardor  of  the  zealot  was  cooled  by  the  fears  of 
the  statesman. 

"  Yet  in  secret  he  countenanced  the  Benedic- 
tine crusade.  And  his  cunning  is  shown  in  the 
fact  that  he  made  Eadgar  appear  as  the  benefactor 
of  the  rule.  They  say  that  over  forty  Benedictine 
monasteries  owe  their  foundations  to  that  pious 
king! 

341 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  A  great  man  is  not  always  a  great  saint. 
Dunstan — Saint  Dunstan  as  some  call  him — 
earned  his  greatness  at  the  expense  of  his  holi- 
ness. Carried  away  by  his  ambition  he  became 
unscrupulous  for  power,  and  stained  his  hands 
with  innocent  blood.  Kings  and  nobles  he  de- 
spised, and  now,  in  turn,  he  came  to  be  despised 
by  them.  So,  often,  are  men  paid  back  in  their 
own.  coin. 

"  On  Eadgar's  death  Dunstan  began  to  get 
his  pay.  The  rival  factions  in  Church  and  state 
came  to  strife  as  to  who  should  wear  the  crown. 
The  country  was  rent  in  twain,  some  calling  for 
Eadward  and  some  for  Ethelred.  With  much 
right  Dunstan  favored  Eadward,  and  in  the  end 
secured  for  him  the  crown. 

"  But  the  infamous  Elfrida  would  not  rest 
content.  Her  life's  ambition  was  to  see  her  own 
son,  Ethelred,  clad  in  purple.  So  when  the  young 
boy-king  Eadward  was  out  hunting  one  day,  and 
came  to  her  door  for  a  sup  of  mead,  her  servants 
plunged  the  dagger  to  his  heart  as  she  herself 
handed  him  the  draft  with  a  luring  smile. 

"  Though  innocent  of  his  mother's  crime  Ethel- 
red  was  regarded  with  horror  by  the  people.  But 


AFTER     THIRTY     YEARS 

as  there  was  no  other  claimant  for  the  throne, 
Elfrida  came  to  see  her  son  robed  in  royal 
purple.  Dunstan,  protesting  and  proclaim- 
ing his  forebodings  of  national  calamity,  was 
yet  forced  to  place  the  crown  on  the  head  of 
Ethelred. 

"  Thereafter  the  primate  retired  to  Canter- 
bury, and  left  the  government  of  the  realm 
to  other  hands.  His  power  in  the  land  was 
broken. 

"  A  murderess  now  ruled  the  isle  of  Albion. 

"  Then  began  the  death-struggle  of  Dunstan. 
The  long  peace  which  his  power  had  established 
came  to  an  end.  Internal  strife  prepared  the  way 
for  the  coming  of  foreign  foes.  The  people, 
dispirited  under  a  sovereign  on  whom  the  curse 
of  Heaven  was  thought  to  rest,  made  no  strong 
or  well-timed  efforts  to  resist  their  foes.  Danish 
and  Norwegian  pirates  swooped  down  upon  the 
land  like  eagles  greedy  for  the  prey  or  birds  of 
vengeance  sent  from  heaven  to  rend  the  reigning 
king.  And  he,  never  prepared  for  them,  and  never 
able  to  beat  them  back  with  terror,  well  earned  the 
nickname  Dunstan  gave  him  of  Ethelred  the 
Unready. 

343 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  In  vain  the  primate  sought  to  control  the 
destinies  of  the  realm  and  prevent  the  threaten- 
ing doom.  His  sin  had  passed  to  the  third  and 
fourth  generation.  Hated  by  the  clergy,  unloved 
by  the  nobles,  despised  by  the  king,  he  never  re- 
gained his  hold  on  the  state.  Day  by  day  his 
power  waned,  till  at  last  his  sun  sank  to  its 
setting. 

"  It  happened  thus :  The  lands  of  Rochester  in 
his  see  were  ravaged  by  the  young  king's  order. 
Angered  by  this  insult,  Dunstan  came  from  his 
retirement  to  the  court  of  the  king,  loudly  pro- 
tested, and  threatened  excommunication.  The 
laughter  and  contempt  with  which  his  threat 
was  heard  mortified  him  so  much  that  he  fled 
the  court  and  went  back  to  Canterbury,  bro- 
ken in  spirit  as  well  as  in  power,  and  died,  it 
it  said,  of  bitter  grief  and  sheer  vexation  of 
heart." 

"  And  it  is  rumored,"  broke  in  the  royal  monk, 
"  it  is  rumored  that  at  the  last  he  bewailed  him- 
self in  the  ears  of  his  priest :  '  Wo  is  me !  Had 
I  but  loved  the  beautiful  and  good,  as  in  my  youth, 
and  left  alone  ambition,  I  should  not  now  be 
marching  to  the  grave  amid  the  laughter  of  men 
344 


AFTER     THIRTY     YEARS 

foul  with  sin,  but  taking  to  myself  the  glory  of  a 
blameless  life.  Wo  is  me!  My  soul  is  heavy 
laden,  and  weary,  waiting  for  the  light.  Vanity 
of  vanities,  all  is  vanity ! ' 

"  And  ere  the  priest  closed  his  eyes,"  added 
the  saintly  abbess,  who  had  approached  them  un- 
seen, "  it  is  said  he  moaned :  '  God  hath  spoken 
once,  twice  have  I  heard  this:  power  belongeth 
unto  God.'  And  as  the  shadows  fell,  in  humble 
contrite  whispers :  '  Also  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  be- 
longeth mercy.  Thou  wilt  render  to  every  man 
according  fo  his  works.'  So  may  his  soul  rest  in 
peace ! " 

"  And  may  we  rest,"  concluded  the  abbot,  "  by 
holding  fast  the  faith  of  the  Psalmist: 

"  '  Blessed  is  he  who  hath  the  God  of  Jacob 
for  his  helper,  whose  hope  is  in  the  Lord  his  God: 
who  keepeth  truth  for  ever:  who  executeth  judg- 
ment for  them  that  suffer  wrong:  who  healeth  the 
broken  of  heart,  and  bindeth  up  their  bruises. 
Great  is  the  Lord,  and  great  is  his  power:  and  of 
his  wisdom  there  is  no  number.  He  bringeth  the 
wicked  down  even  to  the  ground.' ' 

"  It  is  now  the  time  of  even-song,"  whispered 
the  prince  Edwy,  after  a  long  silence. 
23  345 


THE     SINS     OF     A     SAINT 

"  Then  let  us  be  going,"  answered  Eadmund, 
piously  crossing  himself. 

And  as  they  rose  to  go  the  hush  of  eventide 
lay  on  the  land.  White  clouds  were  floating  in  a 
peaceful  summer  sky,  and  a  lark  was  singing  its 
song  of  joy  high  up  in  the  heaven  of  God. 


THE    END 


346 


000038756 


